butwait.blogspot.com || At least one haiku I am comfortable sharing. Every day.
one more Hallowe'en —we try not to scarethe ghosts and witches
spiderwebs beadedwith early morning fog —visibility cloak
eighty-fifth birthday —my mother claims the last biteof cheesecake for herself
tossing songs aroundwhere I heard them yesterday —a pair of mockingbirds
soup season —the scent of last night's garlicwaiting in my kitchen
family troubles —I try again to hum along to a tune I don't know
we watched from the dockas the bridge disappeared —late October fog
woven shakilyby a too-tired spider —this web's story
unseen and unheardmigrating saw-whet owls —treasures in the sky
we let our lawn goas a way to remember —no way is forever
late October morning —fog wraps up the laketo take it home
brightly hued leavesspiraling down to the ground —the maple looks on
frost on the dock —winter leaves her calling cardwhere we will see it
early evening —the scent of someone's bonfirekeeping us outside
who has gone missing?my heart worries silentlythat it's one of us
raking up leavesjust to give myself the chanceto kick through them
late nightturning to early morning —talking to my dead
we commit ourselvesto fighting for the changeswe won't live to see
storing up seedsfor the harder days ahead —upside-down nuthatch
wind blowing colder —our reasons for going outdwindle and vanish
finding your flock —National Coming Out Dayhas me out looking
first bird of the day —I shush everyone so wecan hear the screech owl
neighborhood potluck —I snag a second helpingof the kids' laughter
the yard full of leaves —I give myself permissionnot to finish
fallen petalsoutnumberingthe ones hanging on
clouds finally shiftand give starlight a chance —early morning walk
old candle stubsand rolls of pennies —her "just in case" drawer
even in the rain —goldfinches in the gardenplucking out seeds
back and forth betweena warning and a blessing —the rain keeps switching
before the voyage —a list of all we forgotthe last time
rainy morning —I pull my hands upinto my sleeves