Tweet tweet (pause) tweet tweet;
A sweet breeze brushes my face;
A house is sun splashed.

Three dead trees stand tall;
Sun lights them like the others.
But they have no buds.

By the rushing stream
A rowboat lies on its side.
Its turn will come soon.

Glitter from mailbox:
Christmas ball turns in the sun.
Whisper of winter.

Beer bottles in woods:
Green glass glows in the sunlight.
Discarded jewels.

Blinding light flows down;
Narrow stream catches the sun.
It tinkles lightly.

Red barn is brighter;
Trees stand crisp against the sky.
Earth is in the air.

Gentle roar around;
The sound of rushing water.
Spring streams spring swiftly.

"Quick. quick" the bird shouts;
The woods are still full of snow.
But Spring's puddles spread.

The stream flows softly;
It twinkles in the sunlight.
Patterns on the rocks.

The rusty muffler
Lies uncovered in the woods.
Brown as the moist ground..

Beneath: rushing stream;
Above: wild geese are honking;
In the middle: me.

Bird on a phone line
Sits still against the blue sky
Then swoops to the ground.

Plane in the blue sky
Glides smoothly and silently
Its sound far behind.

Squirrel runs in the snow;
Sun drunk it comes right to me;
Then, freaked, runs away.

The shadows are sharp:
Tree trunks projected on snow.
Clarity today!

Woodpecker drums hard
Unseen among the bare trees.
Other birds twitter.

Dead tree limbs reach out;
The bare branches wait for naught.
For them, no season.

It has snowed again;
The gray black sky is moving;
No tracks in the field.

Thick layer of snow;
Still the black stream twists and turns;
Still the birds twitter.

Tracks cross the snow field;
Brown earth moves in at the edge.
The advance of Spring.

Woman and dog jog;
Sun is gentle this morning;
The birds soar and dive.

Sun fills the tree tops.
Lower down the shadows play.
Gradations of light.

Woodpecker on tree:
He peeks around to check on me,
Then peck pecks away.

The steep road curves down;
It slides, twists, snakes, glides and rolls.
How does it stay still?

Faint breeze and bird chirp;
Far away echo of crows.
A distant plane roars.

Trees are frosted now;
A misty snow slants downward;
Quick! Before Spring comes.

The woods are white and still;
The bare branches etched with snow;
A bird calls somewhere.

A spectral whiteness
As misty snow coats the trees.
It patters: tick tick.

Two fir trees stand tall
Beneath them stone wall and earth.
There no snow will fall.

Like ghosts, trees appear;
Snow is turning into fog.
Is this just a dream?

Crows skim the snow field.
One lands and tiptoes across.
Fleeting black on white.

Is it snow or rain?
Birds chatter in confusion.
The white wetness falls.

Snow falls in silence;
A white mist across the road.
Two planes hum above.

Two doves on a branch
Watching the falling snow
They sit, turn and cluck.


Bumps in the branches;
Forsythia buds peek through;
Snow mist gently falls.


The woods are hushed white;
Veiled lines of snow fall softly.
The first day of Spring.

Sun sparkles the stream
Twisting deep into the woods;
Snow is retreating.

Moon shines through bushes;
Bare branches against the sky.
Above, a goose cries.

Crows caw to music;
Young mother opens barn door;
Spring tapping its feet.

Green moss covered rocks;
The stream sparkles around them;
Snow is receding.

Old dog in the sun
Lies, pants and blinks happily.
Is winter over?

The empty red swing
Suspended above the snow
Patiently waiting.

Pickup truck passes;
A strong blast of tobacco.
Cigarette on wheels.

All the signs are Spring:
The sun, the birds, the earth's smell.
Just the snow remains.

Past the open field
The wind blows across the snow
And tickles my ear.

From the trees or sky
A bird calls, far, far away.
No one answers it.

Shelf fungus on tree
As black as the snow is white.
Last Spring it was beige.

Green and further gray
Rolling mountains straight ahead.
There lies my homeland.

Groping tree branches
Bare against the cold blue sky;
I stalk my shadow.

Brown leaves still hanging;
Beneath them the snow is gray.
What season is this?

A puddle of ice
Glistens brightly in the sun.
Jewel in the dirt.

Fir tree in the snow;
Green amidst all of the white.
Moment of glory!

Wedged in a tree crotch:
Old frozen telephone book.
Who's going to call?

Squirrels glide on the snow,
Zigging and zagging they race
And make not a sound.

The cold wind blows by;
It curls hollow in my ear.
Then it passes on.

Shadow dappled road;
Black crow flies through the blue sky.
The sun warms my face.

My shadow appears;
A lone snow flake drops on it.
Then, poof! Both are gone.

White flakes float sparsely;
They touch the ground and are gone.
Just where do they go?


The road is quiet--
Snow, trees, gray sky-- all silent
Save my chattered thoughts.

YERRY HILL ROAD

For the past five years I have walked the same 2.2 miles down Yerry Hill Road and back again. Being notoriously unobservant, I decided to use this walk as an opportunity to see with new eyes each time.

The ancient Japanese poetic form of haiku forces the writer to focus absolutely and completely on the moment. The traditional syllabic form consists of five syllables in the first line, seven in the second and five again in the third. Traditionally, the haiku have been connected with the seasons. Since I have made my walk in all seasons, the haiku reflect the different times of year.

Today, I surpassed three hundred haiku. No one has seen these but my computer. I thought it would be fun to share. Here are a few from the last week. More will follow.

On my right the wind;
Then it blows across the road.
A tree creaks loudly.


All is soft and white;
Misty snow frosts road and tree.
I walk in a dream.


Footprints in the snow;
They pass me the other way.
There is no one there.


Suddenly the sun;
The trees, the snow, my spirits
All lift up brightly.