Clouds Come Like the Night

Woods filled with dead leaves:
Wind gust scratches some on road;
Patch of sunlight shines.









Little red wagon waits;
There is so much that can fill it;
Just what will that be?

Wind gathers in woods;
Leaves billow on to the road;
Wind gathers again.

It lies like sculpture
This reclining lichened tree,
With its living paint.

Last few leaves hang here,
Dangling precipitously--
A matter of time.

Mini green forest
Thrives at base of the tree
Its own universe.









Bird call is so faint
It seems to have disappeared.
Then it reappears.

Clouds come like the night
Obliterating the sun.
Then, brief, instant dawn.

The Five Hundredth Post

Five years ago, I began my walks down Yerry Hill Road in Woodstock. Five years ago I began writing haiku each time I took the walk.

This post marks the five hundredth post since I began the blog, Yerry Hill Road Haiku. It never grows dull. It never gets boring. Here's to another five hundred posts and to the curious readers who chance upon these pages.


Damp road and bright sun;
Rain gives new life to the trees;
Soggy leaves on road.

A new burst of life:
Bushes bloom with moisture.
Goats snort down their food.












A few trees are bare;
Others bask in morning sun.
Fall seems to have stalled.

The driveway is beige;
Dead leaves cover the ground;
Shadows are longer.

Sun plays on the leaves
Dancing between light and dark--
Many dimensions.

One red leaf sticks out,
Nestled in the brown tree stump:
Two colors of death.











How gently they fall,
The floating leaves all over,
Landing without sound.

Filtered rays of sun
Beam down through the leaves and mist
Lighting up the road.

Autumn Illusion

The road is glistening;
Raindrops crackle on the tree;
A truck hums ahead.












Tree tops are misted;
Rain is suspended in air;
Drops hang from the leaves.

Drops play in bushes
Tick ticking from leaf to leaf.
I swallow sorrow.

A girl walks reading;
Disappearing round the bend.
Was she ever there?

Cars make swishing sounds
Slapping along the pavement;
Moist leaves shine brightly.

Raindrop percussion
Syncopated in the woods
Swells when I listen.








The shiny green leaves
Seem as fresh as they did in Spring:
Autumn illusion.

When the leaves are gone
I will clearly see the car--
Top of the driveway.

A Single Red Leaf

Flat shadowless gray;
Road stretches out in dimness;
One crow briefly caws.

Barn across the field,
Doors open wide and gaping,
Swallowing the light.












Stream seems fully clogged;
Just trickles around dead leaves.
Patch of sun ahead.

Chorus of dog barks
Appear from somewhere unseen
Just as the sun breaks through.

A single red leaf
Lights up the dry brown blanket,
Lending it warmth.

Through many seasons,
Stump friends have faced each other
In wooden silence.








Purple clover glows
In the gray morning dimness;
Goose honks its way south.

Like Silent Musical Notes

Across sky clouds slide;
Loud crows scream into the wind;
Patch of sun breaks through.

Two birds on a wire
Like silent musical notes
Suspended in air.












When the sun breaks through
The road is filled with shadows;
Then they disappear.

Dead leaves in pine tree
Hang like Christmas ornaments
Caught on their way down.











Yellow, green and brown:
A palette of early fall
Scattered on the ground.

Brown-tipped yellow fern
Still waves in the Autumn breeze.
Leaves fall all around.

A loud rustling sound;
Something scurries in the bush
Unseen and fearful.

Sun and clouds play tag,
But the wind is always "it"
Making its own rules.

Such Crowded Silence

Spicy smells of fall;
Warm manure in the barn;
Acrid scent of leaves.

From sun into shade;
Open field to arbored road:
A walk through light zones.













Glistening with drew,
Yellow blooms peek over fence.
Plane flies far above.

Shiny yellow leaves
Don't seem ready for the fall.
They are so vibrant.




Laurie with her dogs;
We talk about the weather
While we enjoy it.

Sun through the pine trees
Filters onto the green moss
Touching it softly.










One rain and all is green;
Fall seems to have been forestalled
At least for today.

The houses have lives;
This mailbox triggers longing.
Such crowded silence.

In A Misty Field

It's ready to rain;
Transformer hums on pole;
Birds flutter about.

A child was here once,
Left some rainbows on the road
Amidst the dead leaves.












Breeze blows up the road;
Sky's darker by the minute.
Just bugs are busy.

Stream is motionless;
Leaves are not trembling;
Still there is a breeze.

Every time I stop,
Clouds of bugs crowd around me.
Just what do they want?









Flat stone in the woods,
Covered by leaf, moss blanket
Soon will be concealed.

Cars rush in the gloom;
Race swiftly before the rain
Which hangs in the sky.

A crushed sumac cone
Lies flattened on the ground,
Spreading its dry seeds.

Large green mullein plant
Still opens its soft wide arms.
One leaf is eaten.

In a misty field
Kids stand like wondrous statues
Silent from afar.

Crows Cut the Silence

First day of Autumn;
Sky is pale, white overcast;
Crows cut the silence.

Birds speed across sky,
Rushing somewhere very fast,
Just like passing cars.












Dead leaves coat the stream.
It appears to have slowed down
With barely a ripple.

Bugs are curious;
They cluster around my eyes
To see what I see.

Three large piles of wood
Waiting to be neatly stacked:
Fall into winter.


One crow keeps cawing.
No other creature answers.
Talking to himself?

A leaf strikes my chest
On its way down to the ground--
Shock without feeling.









Dead leaf takes a break
Resting in soft pine needles
On its way downward.

How Swiftly They Turn

Light from the back door
Opens into the outside,
Letting darkness out.









Thistle turned to fluff
Shining the sunny field;
No longer needs barbs.

Red among the green:
Some ivy begins to turn
Enveloped by fall.

It's almost bare now,
This tree that billowed with leaves.
Wind will complete it.












Old lady stands still,
Slightly bent, clutching a cane,
Doubting the sunshine.



How swiftly they turn
From lush green to lifeless brown
These ferns of summer.











Metal Goliaths
Pass each other in the road
Carefully huffing.

Green moss on the road
Fills up the cement schisms.
Small leaves drop softly.

The log is banded
With shadows of leaves and limbs:
Palette for the sun.

Soon it will be earth,
This log devoured by time
(And hungry insects).









Clear eyes wide open
She stares at me and through me,
Small Buddha baby.