.post-body entry-content { margin-top: 15px; margin-bottom: 15px; }

Wednesday, February 15, 2012

And the Sky Empty





  
 Buddha/snow shovel
Wait in ready position
Absolutely still.



This is the nine hundredth blog entry of Yerry Hill Haiku. Nine hundred times have I walked my usual two miles down Yerry Hill Road. Nine hundred times have I written haiku. Nine hundred times have I photographed my haiku walk. At first I tried to have all the photos connect with a specific haiku. Then I realized that the photographs could be their own haiku. And nine hundred times have I sent my work onto this blog. Nine hundred times. For the most part I get little in the way of feedback. At first that upset me. I would read my site meter to see how many people were reading this.  After all, we all want approval for what we do. But then the haiku took over and my ego took second place. I really and sincerely began not to care if anybody read this. I was doing this as consciously and creatively as I could. And so I applaud myself. If there is a Guiness Book world record for the greatest number of haiku written on the same walk, I might be a contender. But then, as younger brother once said, my motto should be, "anything worth doing is worth overdoing." 
In that spirit, I offer you the nine hundredth blog of "Yerry Hill Road Haiku." [Can't wait until I hit a thousand]. But in celebration of this event, I start and end with haiku written hours after my walk.

Nine hundred pages
Turned through the spinning seasons
Tree bends in the wind. 
 Rhododendron frost;
Gray light descends on the lawn.
No snow anywhere. 

 Crow in the gray sky;
Wood smoke rising lazily.
Faint moo from the barn.

 Forsythia mom
Swells brown, purple and pregnant
As the roosters crow.
 

Cut logs in the woods
Have been there for many years
Sitting--dissolving.

Absence of crow cries
Makes the woods seem more silent
And the sky empty.

Hanging in mid air
Dead branches don't reach the ground--
A suspended fall.
  

Over dry stream bed
A little log foot bridge lies
To keep fairies dry.
 

Gray, brown, rain dim day,
Yet nothing falls from the sky;
I am in limbo. 
 


No comments: