Haiku Etcetera

Wednesday, March 25, 2015

The family glues
together, then unglues. Six
separate people.

They look kindly on
me, these trees, since I ripped sap-
sucking ivy from them.

A lingering red
sunset, the sky reluctant
to yield to darkness.

Heavy clouds block the
sun. On the horizon a
narrow glow survives.

Stillness. The planet
gathers strength for the effort
of rich spring movement.

Christmas letter from
a friend, aged, dying. Not
sad, happy. I wept.

Wind tousles cedars
while eagles glide, slipstreaming
through frantic branches.

After summer rain
Fields smell of rich gratitude,
deepening roots, growth,

Rain, the heavy, fierce
blessing of a parched garden
soaked the soil today.