Haikuversary #12!

rain and more rain  —

seed catalogs offering

sun on every page

Friends, tomorrow is my #haikuversary! 

With tomorrow's post, I will have been posting at least one haiku I can stand to share  every day for TWELVE YEARS. (!)

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 Blue Sky, where I am, of course @butwait. I will be traveling for some the day tomorrow, so I'm trying to get out in front a little.)

• 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 worry too much about 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? In the past I've had a few friends write a haiku in response to one of mine, which has been lovely and thrilling.

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

under last year's leaves
this year's infant bees
and beneath them, seeds

crocuses coming —
I stop to wonder
who's cheering who

mid March blood moon —

another night finds me

up past my bedtime

dear friends of the sky
we can hear you up there
as you return home

listening for the sound
of meltwater trickling home —
spring peepers come next

long airport lines —
I try to see strangers through
gender fluid eyes

Little Leaguers
giggling in the hotel hallway —
our new favorite song

one tree seemed lit up
the memory of that gold
lives with my treasures

snow turns to hail —
cars sliding off mountain curves
in slow motion

tomorrow's newspaper —
I try not to plan out
my anger in advance

if we stop and breathe
will it deepen our resolve
or undam these tears?

Carolina wren 
beats out the mourning dove for
first song of the day

walking into wind —
smiling, I feel the cold
in my teeth

snow drops pushing up
while daffodils await
their turn to shine