Specks of white float down; They dance in the morning sun. Passing snow flurry.
Wind across the field Picks up the cold of the snow And roars in my ear.
One white speck of snow Disappears into the road. Now there are others.
Swiftly sunlight flees; Suddenly everything's gray. Then poof! Sun is back.
My feet crunch the ice Then they squoosh the softer snow. Winter percussion.
Now they're on the porch-- The two grizzled old black dogs; Always together.
Specks in the sunlight, Snow flakes driven by the snow. They're racing nowhere.
Now they are sleeping Their gray muzzles snout to snout. The two old dog friends.
Clean bridge of ice Across the racing waters. A December stream.
Saturday, December 17, 2005
The sunlight is fresh; It washes the white snow field And paints the red barn.
On the soft snow lawn The schnauzer lies and watches; A brown teddy bear.
The wind is hollow; It echoes around my ears, Then it disappears.
Stream is iced over, Snow covers the dark waters. Do they flow under?
Bells hang from mailbox: Shiny green and bright silver. A Yuletide posting
Straight lines on the snow; Here a square, there triangle. Sun's geometry.
The road glistens wet; Square sign shade on the snow. The sun is playing.
Thursday, December 15, 2005
Bright light on the snow; Trees cast their shadows starkly. Car sounds far away.
The stream is quiet; Faint rippling under the ice. A distant tinkle.
High on the snow hill Two black dogs sit in the sun, Still, part of the woods.
The woods seem endless; Stark tree shadows on the snow; All life is muted.
The white hill is steep; It ripples the woods higher; At the top: blue sky.
Sky is clear, cold, blue; The sun broadcasts the shadows. It's supposed to rain.
Sunday, December 04, 2005
Chickens watch the snow; They see the slanting white lines From the dark barn door.
Tree limbs are frosted; The stream winds through the white banks. Snow falls silently.
Saturday, December 03, 2005
Bright sunny morning; A crisp wind blows in my face. Somewhere a hammer.
Sun light on the stream Sparkling the rushing waters. I grumble aloud.
Ladder in the woods Lying flat on the brown leaves, Too tired to stand up.
Car sound in the wind; Then the car races past me Leaving just the wind.
Tree limb bends over; Gnarled branch above the ground. Ancient canopy.
Spring colors long gone; Now there are brown shades and green. A muted rainbow.
Up the sharp steep hill Mother jogs behind her pram. Baby sleeps inside.
Faint whiff of a skunk Drifts from nobody knows where. Ghost of a fear past.
Friday, December 02, 2005
There's frost on the grass; There's thin ice near the still stream. First of December.
Bare bushes rustle; Ten tiny birds scoot around Then whoosh to a tree.
The stream flows softly And tinkles by the road side. I see a black ghost.
Sun spreads on the fields Slowly emerging from the clouds, Like a second dawn.
The trees are bare now Revealing hidden houses. Winter strips the veils.
Black dog trots ahead; He's taking his morning walk. I follow behind.
A loud whining buzz: The house takes on a new face. The smell of cut wood.
Grizzled gray dog barks; Young black Lab stops in his tracks. Mexican stand off.
Shadows on the road; Wind hums softly in my ears. Then a gray cloud comes.
The woods are humming; The wind plays between the trees; The leaves are racing.
The three mailboxes Stand side by side--one open Like a hungry mouth.
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
The stream is rushing, Moist flower smells fill the air. Is this November?
Streams rush everywhere; Here a pond, there a river; Relentless water.
Who shot this raccoon Left it to die in the woods. A strange kind of sport.
Water sounds abound By the road and in the woods. Late November's flow.
A frog in the road Doesn't move when I touch it; Cold, wet and confused.
The stream rushes down Brushing away the dead leaves; A roadside torrent.
Crushed worm on the road Twists and turns and twists again; Can't extract itself.
Monday, November 28, 2005
It's damp, wet and gray; The snow disappears into the fog. I can't see the field
Ghost trees touch the sky; Yellow car lights cut the fog. The stream still burbles.
There is no sun now, Only the soft endless fog And the gray silence.
The raccoon is still; No longer does it whimper. It's part of the ground.
Two trees together Their branches are intertwined Like old wooden friends.
In the beat up house Colored things scurry about. The t.v. is on.
Crow calls in the fog; It is nowhere to be seen. There is just its cry.
It's noon in morning; Thick fog hides the time of day. Snow man is melting.
Sunday, November 27, 2005
Dark water's ribbon Snakes through white snow in the woods. You can just hear it.
A splash of red leaves Bursts out against the snow field; Then a splash of sun.
The bright yellow sign: "Posted: No Hunting, Fishing" Against the white snow.
A whimpering sound; Raccoon lies in the cold snow Crying out his life.
On the cool white snow Raccoon lies crying, dying; Near him a small red blotch.
Friday, November 25, 2005
Snow man in the field; A car splushes on the road. First snow of the year.
Everyone is gone; No sound or sight of people; Woods on Thanksgiving.
Stubborn small flowers Bend under the weight of snow; They don't know it's time.
The old jeep passes; A gust of gas fumes lingers. Faint child memories.
The old washer waits; Another scrubless winter. Snow flakes cover it.
The old black Lab stares Then turns and sits on the snow; We know each other.
Monday, November 21, 2005
The bushes are bare Save for strings of red berries; Bird rustles inside.
A tiny white moth Flickering across the road Follows its shadow.
A child's blue knit cap Lies on top of the dry leaves. Where is its owner?
The sun strokes my face; A lone crow chortles sharply; Lazy brown leaves lie.
Old Marlboro case; Soggy beer bottle carton. Humans trash the woods.
Sun is cold today; Wind rushes in empty woods. Ouch! My big toe hurts.
Green ribbon is waving Hanging from the bare tree branch. Damn! It's cold out!
Crisp autumn morning; Broccoli trees face the sky; Crow barks far away.
Chickens cluck and peck; Their world is the barnyard ground. They don't see the clouds.
Geese in a gray sky: They honk unseen through the clouds. Wood smoke tangs the air.
Like fragile broccoli The stripped trees reach to the sky. Maybe they're praying.
Sniffing the dead leaves The old black Lab ignores me Pisses on a sign.
The woods are brown now, Leaf blankets cover the floor Snuggled from the snow.
Swish of jeep and van. The air is filled with gas smell, Then all is silent.
I check the dead leaves. Will I find my long last pen? Hope springs eternal.
The strong post light. It switches on at nightfall, Deceived by gray day.
Small white mushroom steps Climb the standing dead tree trunk. Soon they'll be yellow.
Soft green mullein plant Sits among the dead brown leaves Opening its arms.
Shiny snake of tar Slithers down the road's center And joins its fellows.
Slices of sunlight Cut patterns on the brown leaves The trees stand so still.
Pine cones on the ground Lie in beds of brown needles. Soon, winter's slumber.
Tiny puffs of smoke Push out of the gray chimney: The scent of autumn.
Warm breeze even now With the stark trees and dead leaves. Seasons overlap.
Sunday, November 06, 2005
Head against a jar The old black Lab lies in bliss. His gray whiskers twitch.
A skeleton tree Against the muted gray sky. A leaf blower purrs.
Barking dog has stopped I look up from my notebook. He has turned around.
My mind is racing; Can't think about scenery. Where is my wallet?
A sunless stillness; The leaves on the road don't stir; One drifts from the sky.
Next to the bushes Darkness on the sunless road. Stain of a shadow?
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
After Halloween Bat leaves skitter like raindrops. Ghost clouds sweep the sky.
A soft wind's whistle Awakens faint memories. Brown leaves are rustling.
The schnauzer bellows; The little basset follows suit. They just want to play.
First dark and then light The clouds move like passing moods. I follow along.
Monday, October 31, 2005
The ancient phone book Is still stuffed in the tree crotch. Nobody's calling.
Lone purple clover Stands on a sea of brown leaves. How long will it last?
Soft green mullein plant Spreads out its welcoming arms: "Come, I will heal you."
White thorn branches bend; The tempting berries are gone. Now there's just prickles.
Washer in the woods Awaits another season But never sees clothes.
Where is my old pen? Dropped into the dead brown leaves; In oblivion.
High in the bare tree A large bird's nest is revealed No longer hidden.
Neat stack of cut logs; Gray smoke puff from the chimney; Spice smell of burnt wood.
Dead leaves on the tree Still clinging to the branches. Will they ever fall?
Thursday, October 27, 2005
Four leaves on a tree; Just a gust of wind will do; Then the tree's bare.
Small purple flowers Peep out from the sea of brown. They make their last stand.
Sky and earth are still; Something's bound to start falling. Is it rain or snow?
Last leaf on a branch: Will not be there tomorrow. Just a puff of wind.
The grizzled black dog Looks up and gives me a glance. We are silent friends.
Lost in the brown leaves My small silver bullet pen. It's gone forever.
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
Leaves are skittering; They dance in the cool sunlight, Then one slaps my mouth.
Leaf slides to the ground, Gently, slowly it descends. Then, a burst of wind.
A bright glistening: Something sparkles on dead leaves. Ah, it's a beer can.
Monday, October 24, 2005
Spice smell of dead leaves; The sun paints the trees yellow. Chickens are clucking.
Burbling, whispering, The stream races through the woods; Where is it going?
The trees are naked; Now deep woods are visible. Still, there's mystery.
The marsh is still green; Nearby, leaves float from the trees. Two worlds, side by side.
Brightly glowing tree; The sun illumines the leaves. A breeze sprinkles them.
The leaves are sailing. They float through the air like kites And rest on the road.
The woods are silent; Then a throbbing van passes: Stench of tobacco.
Friday, October 21, 2005
Carpet of brown leaves. The deep woods are undressing. I can see farther.
A high rasping hum; The chains saw cuts through the air. A whiff of wood smoke.
A pile of brown leaves. Through trees I see mountain tops. The view is longer.
The faded red barn; Pale moon in the cool blue sky; Autumn is waking.
Cluster of bare trees; Almost all the leaves are gone. Shadows on the road.
A puff of yellow: The maple lights up the road. The air is spicy.
Black dogs on brown leaves: They lift their heads and bellow, Then plop back to sleep.
Tiny blue flowers Wilt and droop in the chill air, But yellow persists.
Shining milk weed pods Hang full in the autumn air. Their time will be soon.
The woods are mottled now; Yellow leaves and brown carpet; Patches of sunligh
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
Glowing blue asters Amidst jewel weed, Queen Anne's lace. The bee has a feast.
Still and suspended A dragonfly on a twig. Then it zooms upward.
The sun hits my face; In the bushes crickets chirp; A caressing breeze.
I kick the brown leaves; They rasp dryly on the road. Only a few now.
Leaf floats to the ground; The woods are carpeted brown; From this year or last?
A warm gust of breeze; A rain of leaves flutters down. Brown is mixed with green.
Goats in the barn door Braying in the morning sun. Butterflies flutter.
Sunday, September 11, 2005
The field is mowed now. Green and brown mix on the hill. The air is pungent.
Above seagull cries; The bird is far from the sea. Is it really lost?
I sit on a rock A bug buzzes near my ear; Sun and breeze kiss me.
Swaying feathered ferns Cluster together on a hill. Below: plastic bag.
Between the two trees Three spider webs hang like nets; Now they catch the sun.
Yellow goldenrod Waves gently in the sunlight; The field is brightened.
Not all trees are green; Yellow leaves catch the sunlight. A brown one falls down.
Thursday, September 08, 2005
A paper doll lies Staring up at the blue sky Surrounded by grass.
Cobwebs in the grass Sparkle in the morning sun Catching the dew drops.
Table saw buzzes Cutting through the morning light Then even that fades.
A car purrs softly; Overhead a plane drones on. Then, just the cricket.
A red car roars past; Brown leaves scatter in the road; Frog plops into grass.
Hollow shots echo; A leaf shudders to the ground. There's no connection.
Leaves shine in the shade; The sun has not yet reached them. Soon they will be dry.
Brown leaf floats slowly; A bird calls from the treetop; Bug buzzes in my ear.
A big gray horsefly Sits in the shade of the road. I leave it alone.
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
Startled bird rises Fills the air with fluttered sounds. Then stillness again.
Black dog in shadows Lies down merging with darkness. Anonymous peace.
Leaf congregation Gathered on the sunny road. Butterfly shadows.
Where do the woods end? Green and dark go on and on. A woodpecker pecks.
Brown leaf on the road Lost among the dark shadows. Wait! There's another.
Hoo Hoo Hoo Krek Krek Birds talk in the morning sun. Squished rabbit on road.
Dove on a phone wire Sees me and flutters away. A fat van roars by.
Birds call far away; Bees humming break the silence; Bugs dart in the sun.
Web between two trees Catches the morning dew drops. A gossamer net.
Green briar bushes Guard the entrance to the woods. Just go around them.
Woods smell moist and rich; Shadows compete with sun And find silent truce.
Insects are humming; A cricket rushes madly. Watch out for the truck.
Pop. Pop. The white ball Clicks across the green table. Outdoor ping pong game.
Monday, September 05, 2005
The silent sun falls; Woods, road, sky--all are quiet. Just my mind chatters.
Sparkle of orange: Jewel weed plants dot the roadside. Guardians of Fall.
Soft light in the woods; Leaves catch the falling sun beams And drop the shadows.
Happy crickets chirp; Shadows fall upon the road. Sun is warm and soft.
Leaves are shimmering; Gently the sun shines through them. A lone bird twitters.
How quiet is the woods; Sun patches fall silently. Chain saw rips through it.
Sun bright in green fields; Stalks of yellow radiate. Goldenrod again.
Road shadows quiver; Warm breeze shakes the sunlit trees. Leaves skitter and slide.
Noiseless butterfly Flutters over the still lawn; Flowers sway in breeze.
Weaving wire fence; Twists glistening through the woods. A gated forest.
Trees touch overhead; Below, the road is cool, dark. A moment's relief.
Worm crosses the road; It wriggles in the sunlight. Will it get across?
Zebra grasshopper Flies above the shadowed road. Sure sign of Autumn.
Tiny pine tree sways; The sun glistens each needle. Beer bottle on ground.
The woods seem endless; Sun and shade pattern the ground. One leaf floats downward.
The smell of warm grass; A light breeze tosses my hair. Nearby, hammer pounds.
Now there is a breeze; Sunlit leaves tremble softly. Which one will fall first?
Light climbs the mountain; Sun patches light up the woods. A ringing stillness.
A Queen Anne's lace plant With hundreds of small flowers Smiles at the sun.
Tree stump in the woods Surrounded by baby pines. Soon it will be gone.
A white butterfly Alights on a white flower; Both bathed in sunlight.
A blue dragonfly Flutters between the shadows. A crow calls three times.
Deep and dappled woods; Sun illuminates the leaves; There is just silence.
Everything is still; Even the stream is quiet. Startled quail flutters.
Light blue chicory Sprinkles the edge of the road; Nearby cricket chirps.
SEPTEMBER 5, 2005
It has been over two months since I have walked Yerry Hill Road. As probably the only person who leaves Woodstock for the chicken farm country of southern New Jersey every summer, I miss the months of July and August here in Woodstock.
But now I am back on the road again. The season is changing and so are the sights along the road. And so are the haiku.
Friday, June 17, 2005
For all of you millions of readers out there. Or for the one or two of you who may have stumbled onto this site. I leave Yerry Hill for two months for the flatlands of southern New Jersey. So here is my last post until the end of August. Happy summer to all!
First clouds and then light, Gentle breeze brings back the sun. Butterfly flutters.
Red and orange splash: Bright colors on the gray road. Squashed butterfly.
The stream is chortling Racing headlong to the woods. It is darker there.
How still the woods are, Not even a wind's whisper. Only my breathing.
Sleek Mercedes turns And drives past its fenced in woods, Secure from all life.
Monday, June 06, 2005
The sky is gray now; The grass scented breeze is cool; Look! Patches of sun.
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.
