You died on this day,
Twelve soft long Autumns ago.
I still miss you, Ma.
How the wind does rage
Swirling the leaves through the air,
Brown fluttering clouds.
Top of the tree:
Two leaf bunches resist wind,
The only ones left.
Bright red maple leaf
Wedged in bark of a tree,
Filed for the winter.
Woods are gentle brown;
Leaves and wind form the palette;
Sunlight paints the strokes.
In front of the fir,
Speckled leaves wait to be blown;
Fir's going nowhere.
Clouds cover the sun,
Road becomes dark and eerie.
My mood changes, too.
My foot kicks a twig;
It rolls noiselessly away,
Swollen by the rain.
1 comment:
Hello!
I love your blog. And being from the desert, I delight in seeing the rich trees of New York. I am writing a dissertation about the concept of play as it relates to the performance of music. I would like to ask permission to use your haiku:
Grayness then brightness;
Rush of light then bowing trees-
Play of sun, wind, clouds
Please contact me at chelseacgreen@yahoo.com if you would like more information.
Thank you, sir!
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