Until Next Time

Every summer for the past twenty-two years I have left Woodstock, New York to travel to the far reaches of southern New Jersey. It has not been for the scenery that I make such a trip. Rather have I worked at an arts camp for kids, Appel Farm Arts Camp. Over the past two decades it has become a very nurturing place and a place where I grow as well as the kids.

Naturally I will not be taking my walks on Yerry Hill Road until the third week in August. In the meantime I will be making entries on my other blog, Haiku to You Too (http://haikutoyouto.blogspot.com/). For those of you who have come here, enjoy the three years of haiku that are presented. And have a wonderful summer.

Focuses My World

Sun patches on leaves;
Bright dark shadows on the barn;
Yellow dots in field.










Party's done again;
Balloons will hang on the pole
Deflated, finished.








They're fixing the fence:
"Gotta cut down the bushes"
To find where it is.

Every sound intrudes
On the soft mottled morning.
The woods holds its breath.

Daisies daunt the sun
Challenging it to shine bright
So they might reflect.












Stone in my sandal:
Small, knife-edged and persistent
Focuses my world.

The poppers are out
To be smashed on a child's hand
Like a paper bag.












Wound against the tree
Lone clover highlights the trunk--
Single purpleness.

Even Stream is Still

Hot haze on the road;
Goats eating poison ivy;
A blessed breeze blows.

Everything stands still;
The purple irises glow
In a drop of shade.









Flying through the air
Seed puffs stream purposefully
Landing who knows where?









Even stream is still;
A bee buzzes by swiftly.
Hot soft summer smell.

Woods are inviting--
Cool and dappled under sun;
Filtering the heat.

It's a lazy day;
Even shadows are listless;
But the deer fly hums.












Ahead a man mows
Trimming the wild road grass.
(Will he mow the woods?)

The road seems longer;
Steps are endless in the sun;
The shadows welcome.

It's a Moist Embrace

A mist on my face;
Leaves are shiny, glistening;
A lone chicken clucks.

A spiked dandelion
Stands tall after a long rain.
It's a bad fluff day.

Birds call back and forth;
Gray sky seems to kiss the earth.
(It's a moist embrace.)









Sparkling leaves bend
With countless drops of water;
A liquid burden.

Wild in the woods
A magical flower grows.
Where did it come from?

Once this stream was bare
Covered with a sheet of ice.
Now it's invisible.










In the crotch of plant
A gauzy wet white substance.
Must be fairy spit.

A Far Away Wind

Dappled June morning--
Leaf shadows speckle the road;
Two kids hand in hand.

The first buttercups
Throw open yellow petals
And embrace the sun.

Sheltered by the leaves
Mailbox is half dark, half light;
Morning mystery.









Green, spiked and shiny
Weed waits at the side of road--
Pointy profusion.

Birds chirp in the woods;
High above crows call in flight.
Something makes me sneeze.

Colony of ferns
Helter skelter in the woods
Reach out in all ways.









A soft constant breeze
Blows back and forth through the woods
Rustling the leaves.

A far away wind
Echoes like a memory
And then dies away.

Still Not Time For Rain

Clouds come and clouds go;
Sun appears then disappears.
Goats keep on eating.









There are no shadows;
Air softly whispers a breeze;
Rippled mirror stream.

A crow on the road
Stops to peck at something dead
And then swoops away.









Patch of blue flowers
Lights up the dim, dark forest
Even without sun.

There's sunlight ahead;
Bend in the road is lit up
To the bright unknown.

Jogger approaches;
She faces a long ascent,
While I saunter down.












A hole in the clouds
Allows the blue sky to shine;
Then dark portends rain.

Rustle in the leaves;
Then a few drops of water.
Still not time for rain.