UNTIL NOVEMBER

Every Autumn I go to Seattle to spend a month with my daughter, grand daughter and son in law. So, for the next month, I will be climbing the hills of the Northwest instead of my familiar Yerry Hill Road. I will still be publishing my haiku, as I have become a haiku addict. For those who want to check it out I will be sporadically publishing on my other haiku blog, Haiku To You located at http://haikutoyou.blogspot.com.

Goat bleat and wood smoke:
Sounds and smells in the morning.
There's so much motion.

Old darkened tree stump
Seems to be hiding in shade
Out of way of life.

Some trees are bare now;
Their branches bereft of leaves.
Others will join them.








Lying on dirt road
A deflated rubber ball
Waiting to be squished.

All is quiet now;
No sounds carried by the wind,
Just dry tick of leaves.

They are evergreen;
Must be the way they soak sun
Shining to winter.

The road is peaceful;
Birds sing and dry leaves stutter,
Then dumb schmuck roars by.

The dogs are barking
Penned up on this gorgeous day.
(I would bark as well).

Invisible crows
Caw through the morning sunshine.
Dead leaves near the barn.

Smell of hay and dung;
Moist and rich from the barn door;
Goats rustle inside.

A sharp gust of wind;
Leaves like brown snow from the trees;
The stream is soggy.

Squirrel leaps on the tree
Always on the other side:
Animal physics.

Like a feral cat
Shy woman slightly tilting
Walks soft behind me.








Glistening needles
In their instant of glory:
Pine tree in the sun.

Some leaves are holy
Devoured by tiny mouths
Before they let go.

Skipping down the road
Dry leaves live in the wind's mouth
Only to go still.

Sky is gray and still
Even leaves have no motion;
Loud thunder rumbles.

Now the air is restless;
Leaves flutter wildly downward;
Soon the sky will break.

Suddenly dark sky;
Blasting crashes of lightning;
Constant whoosh of rain.

Sun is out again;
All signs of rainstorm are gone.
Petals are shiny.

Small bursting blue blooms
Bask in the warm fall morning;
Chirping children play.

The world is at work;
Dry leaves rasp under my feet.
Yellow in the woods.








Dry brown falling leaves
Coat the ground and fill the woods--
Blanket for winter.

Luminous fungus
Protrudes sharply from the tree
Absorbing sunlight.











Almost October:
Broiling sunshine and dead leaves--
Indian summer.

Sun glows through red leaves
That hang with their green sisters.
They all will be gone.

White haired old lady
Bends to water near statue--
A cement Mary.

Yet another year
Old phone book in crotch of tree
Going to its source.

Blue and gray the sky;
Subdued light falls in the field;
Flowers seem brighter.

Wood is neatly stacked
Even as the air is mild;
Winter reminder.

Dead leaf in the web,
But the spider is elsewhere--
Pointless entrapment.








Circus of colors;
Dead leaves stand out in the mist,
Brightening the road.

There are no shadows;
Light is diffused and subdued;
Even sounds are hushed.

Mostly brown with black,
Fuzzy bear caterpillar--
Warm winter again.

Balled up Queen Anne's Lace
Forms a fist against winter
Hiding its glory.

Unseen cricket chirps
Welcoming the slice of sun,
Enjoys while it lasts.

Breath of foul air;
Something rotting in the woods.
Better not to see.

Clover's always green
Even as other plants dry.
It knows no winter.

Sitting on the road
A quiet motionless bird.
Oh! It's just a leaf.

Faint mist in the air
Lets the sun shine softly through;
Shiny blades of grass.








Old box is face down;
Once it carried fresh picked fruit;
Now it's just rotting.

Moist smell of the woods
Brings back thousand memories.
Soft warm wave of air.









Window in the fence
Opens on a verdant lawn
And lets sights escape.

Lone dove pecks the road
Searching for morsels of food;
Seems pretty fruitless.

Morning light through mist
Illuminates the forest;
Dark and light spotlights.

Light blue and yellow
The two flowers coexist;
Model in nature.

Garbage truck wheezes
Clanging cans and grinding gears;
Sounds from the city.

Morning air is cool;
Voices of children next door;
Time to run and play.

Sitting and chewing
Concentrated on each bite:
Goat meditation.

There are only thorns:
Thistle's blue flower is gone
Armed now for winter.











Freckles of sunshine
Play with shadows on the tree--
Quiet morning games.

Small brown falling leaf
Quickly, jerkily, floats down
To the forest floor.

In the morning sun
Shadows and light in the moss--
Tiny universe.

Blue flowers tremble
As the bee climbs among them--
Awkward gardener.

Rushed sounds in the woods;
Unseen creatures move about.
Are they watching me?

Below blue flowers
Trickle of running water;
Stream is always there.

SUNDAY SEPTEMBER 16

Pungent wood smoke;
Noisy car zips past me;
Walnuts on the road.

Dew shines in the field;
Blue daisies peer out shyly.
September Sunday.








Bee sits motionless
Sprawled on the tiny white flower.
Has it expired?

One bright patch of light
Surrounded by deep darkness--
Forest paradox.

Old telephone pole
Standing, pecked at hammered on--
A faded sign post.

Motion on the ground;
Something moves under the leaves:
Invisible beast!

Single shiny strand
Stretches from nowhere to moss,
A slide for fairies.

White petals of light
Helter skelter seize the sun
Crushing out darkness.

Air is rich with smells,
Some coming from the dark barn
To mix with the sun.

A gray webbed puddle
Glistens brightly in the field.
Where is its owner?

The stream barely moves;
Motion is in the bird sounds;
A woodpecker thumps.

Green flowers and leaves
Cover the old dead tree trunk
Bringing forth new life.

The woods are always new;
Now a crow sings the shadows;
Cackle bursts of light.






Islands of bright light
Float between the trees and road;
Warm play of sunshine.

New blue flowers grow;
They are hidden in the shade;
Just shy chicory.

Two pals, cat and dog
Enjoy an autumn morning
Each in their own way.

Children's voices chirp,
Then the wind blows them away
Like puffs of sound light.

Cluster of asters;
Fluttering orange ribbon;
Both at the wind's whim.

Now the sun is here;
Seconds before there were clouds--
Morning mosaic.

A loud wind's rustle
Shakes the trees and moves the clouds
Shifting light and shape.

Peeling from the tree
A rough mottled piece of bark
Once a source of life.





Myriad of shapes
The lichen paints the tree trunks
A living palette.

Wind is roaring now;
This second there's nothing else;
Then all is quiet.











Large ferns of autumn
Spread like green fans by the road
Embracing the sun.

Soft misty morning;
Sun plays tag with the gray clouds;
Two doves sit on wire.

The stream is hidden
Under a billow of green;
Its trickle is faint.











A hive of mushrooms--
Community of fungi
Take over the tree.

New spray of flowers;
A woman walking her two dogs;
Just Yerry Hill Road.











The bend turns again;
Just around it, mystery
Always unfolding.











The plants are holey
Nibbled with a million bites--
Unseen gluttony.

Orange and yellow--
Jewel weed next to goldenrod:
A fashion statement.

Monarch butterfly
Floats past the old milkweed pods.
It doesn't stop for me.

Dainty little turd
Sits primly by the roadside
Waiting for a foot.