when weariness
is indistinguishable from grief —
willow trees bent low
butwait.blogspot.com || At least one haiku I am comfortable sharing. Every day.
August 31, 2020
August 30, 2020
imagining
the mud has healing powers —
we learn from our boy
August 29, 2020
with every day
a little more grapevine
a little less tree
August 28, 2020
gone-to-seed grass
tickling her palm as she passes —
summer’s handshake
August 27, 2020
trickling in
as the birds dry off —
today’s dawn chorus
August 26, 2020
cycling home
to the cheers of my neighbors —
so much closer now
August 25, 2020
bandages and water —
protesters go on a run
for supplies
August 24, 2020
every downhill path
now slick with fresh mud —
we grab for each other
August 23, 2020
just the one rain cloud —
we take cover together
her smile my sun
August 22, 2020
pandemic lap lane —
long hair waving
like seaweed
August 21, 2020
acorns underfoot —
the squirrels so busy
with forgetting
August 20, 2020
afternoon ravens
tucked into shadowed nooks
their black eyes watching
August 19, 2020
scanning the treetops
for a bird whose song I know —
anniversary
August 18, 2020
thistles swaying
under the weight
of goldfinches
August 17, 2020
cloud-crowded skies
no sign of the Perseids —
I wish on a memory
August 16, 2020
loon songs
an echo of freedom —
we take turns crying
August 15, 2020
the ides of August —
grasshoppers punching through
to cooler air
August 14, 2020
mid-summer sun —
the front yard bunny
forgets to be afraid
August 13, 2020
cosmos and ironweed
sharing their corner of sun —
we chose well, you and I
August 12, 2020
great blue heron —
still point around which
the Earth revolves
August 11, 2020
tasting my own salt
as the heat wave shimmers —
meadowlarks singing
August 10, 2020
let’s drive to the reservoir
and skinny dip
August 09, 2020
in search of shade and shelter —
survival instincts
August 08, 2020
and discover just how much
we were in our way
August 07, 2020
in the bamboo leaves —
heat lightning
August 06, 2020
their calls like laughter
brighter by the day
August 05, 2020
my throat sore from yelling
past the mask
August 04, 2020
a green heron in the reeds
my father’s alcoholism
August 03, 2020
darker sky ahead —
we travel in the same direction
as the storm
August 02, 2020
noisy neighbors —
I float a lullaby
over the fence
August 01, 2020
twenty twenty —
a year's worth of photos
me with my eyes closed