March 31, 2020

two-toned daffodils —
beaten down by the rain and
plotting their return


March 30, 2020

nearing day's end
the sun gives the clouds the slip —
blossoms all aglow


March 29, 2020

bees trading tips
about today’s new blossoms —
their hopeful hum


March 28, 2020

waving sadly
at all the dogs I can’t pet
rainy late March walk


March 27, 2020

a cardinal couple
never more than six feet apart
planning this year’s nest


March 26, 2020

marking time anew
my mother finishes
every book I’ve loaned her


March 25, 2020

March 24, 2020

spiky sweet gum balls
now mostly dead and fallen
so much to sweep away


March 23, 2020

March 21, 2020

brown leftover leaves
the backdrop of every hill
red bud doubletake


March 20, 2020

late afternoon rain —
we keep looking for rainbows,
finding floods instead


March 19, 2020

March 18, 2020

fingers grown cold
from turning over rocks —
crayfish hunting


March 17, 2020

driving east
as the rain overtakes us —
coronavirus


Wanna play?


Friends, today is my #haikuversary! 

(I have been posting at least one haiku I can stand to share here every day for EIGHT YEARS. Or maybe SEVEN? I can't count. But a really long time, in any case.)

In celebration, I hereby invite you to join me in celebrating the art of haiku.

Here are some ways that you might decide to join in the fun. (Put whatever you decide to share either here in the comments or over on Twitter, where I am @butwait. I'll be traveling some today, but will definitely check in before day's end.)
  • Poke around in the archives, find a favorite, and share it! Bonus points if you tell me why you like it. (But sometimes it's hard to say why, so no pressure.)
  • Find a photo that you think pairs well with one of my haiku, and either tell me about it or create a haiga (image + haiku, e.g. this one)!
  • Pick a date that is meaningful to you - just the date, not the year - and let me share a haiku I wrote on that date. Bonus points - again, no pressure! - if you tell me why the date is significant to you.
  • Send me a word that you'd like to see me try to incorporate into a haiku (no promises!)
  • Tell me about a moment that seemed "haiku-worthy" to you, but that you haven't quite managed to capture in the way you were hoping to
  • Share a haiku of your own! (And don't focus too much on the whole 5-7-5 thing.)
  • Tell me about your haiku reading practice! Do you come here and read mine, or do you only read them on Twitter? Who else writes haiku that you enjoy?
  • Got any other ideas? Last year at least one friend wrote a haiku in response to one of mine, which was lovely and thrilling.

Thank you for considering dedicating some of your "stay at home" time and energy to helping me celebrate this small thing amidst everything big and scary that's going on right now.

March 16, 2020

turn out the porch light —
let’s stay in again tonight 
and remember


March 15, 2020

at five o’clock
we come to our driveways’ ends
to smile and wave

(HT to GB)

March 14, 2020

sunshine returning
while the mud remains —
everyone tracks it in


March 13, 2020

what is it
that she’s gotten away with?
a cat’s furtive glance


March 12, 2020

standing on the shore
I grab my father’s hand
and root for big waves


March 11, 2020

we in our small boat
nosing along the rocky coast
searching for a harbor


March 10, 2020

watching the wind
whip the lake into whitecaps —
perfectly still heron


March 09, 2020

watching the wind
in the whitecaps on the lake —
perfectly still heron


March 08, 2020

the birds take turns
expanding their song list —
early spring


March 07, 2020

winter moon —
my cupped hands waiting
for the water to warm


March 06, 2020

the rain remains rain
even as the night grows cold —
we stay snow hopeful


March 05, 2020

paired geese 
with their dreams of nesting —
we change a light bulb


March 04, 2020

March 03, 2020

rumbling thunderstorm —
parents arguing over
whose snore is louder


March 02, 2020

quiet invitations —
a day full up with sunshine,
your surprised smile


March 01, 2020

sap starting to move —
I look at you to catch you
as you look back