Crossing the wide road
Fuzzy bear changes its mind;
Other side? Who cares?






It's a dappled day;
Woods, road and leaves all speckled
With the play of sun.

Dead leaf on a branch
Stuck on its way to the ground
Waiting for a gust.

Garbage off the road
Has been strewn there for six days.
Where are the owners?

Sky breaks through the trees
With patches of blue and white
Framed by shiny green.











One tiny mushroom
Grows in the tree stump center--
A forest jewel.











Smashed against the bank
Old beer can starts to recede;
Nature will triumph.

Growling behind me--
Is it a dog or a bear?
Oh. Just a cyclist.

Million small droplets
Sparkle in the morning sun--
Spider web in field.

Munching as always,
The goats never stop eating.
Does it taste that good?

Bee on chicory
Hopes for something that tastes good;
Just keeps on buzzing.

Clouds of stupid bugs.
How can things so very small
Be so annoying?

Deep in the forest
Rusted cabinet and table:
Ancient tea party.






Rough dark wooden bench
Sits at the edge of the woods;
Lichen grows on it.

Hammock high on hill
Seems to swing out to nowhere,
Endlessly rocking?

Just touching the sky
Leaves are beginning to turn--
Near heaven or hell?

A hand print of sun
Touches the crotch of the tree
Bringing it to light.

Sitting in the sun
The white post seems whiter;
All things are washed clean.

Three crows in the field;
One flies off, others follow--
Follow the leader.

Squarely in the road
A box with a whole pizza.
Someone want a slice?







The woods are gentle;
Green light lies like a blanket
On the soft clearing.






All shadows are still;
There's no motion in the woods.
Leaf floats to the ground.

It is shady now;
L'autre côté de la rue;
(Feels better in French).

My old doggy friend
Absorbs the warm August rays,
Stores them for winter.

Man and girl play catch;
I turn away a second--
They have disappeared.

Patches of sunlight;
Father and daughter jogging;
A breeze comes and goes.











Patch of goldenrod
Absorbs the morning sunshine
And keeps it inside.

I like the lichen
Playing with tree shadows
Giving their own light.

Lying in the woods
Green grass glows in the dimness
Generating light.

Wild daisies protrude
Demanding that they be seen.
Who can refuse them?

Breeze swoops up the road
Shaking leaves and bringing smells;
Then it's on its way.









Bowed under the sun
Timothy grass is grateful
Thankfully praying.











Pale Butter 'n Eggs
Tempt the palate with their name--
Faint savory pastel.

Muggy August morn;
Clouds in the sun splotched gray sky.
The shadows seem moist.

Puffballs on a stump--
Light beige on the dead dark wood.
The two states of brown.






Small asters peek out,
Maybe to grab some sunshine.
They seem very shy.

A jogger runs by,
Her feet slap the hard gray road.
Is she having fun?



Brown maple leaves lie;
All that's around them is green.
Prophets of the fall.

Flying grasshopper
Stops still, then flutters upward
Spreading zebra wings.

Two dark mounds of rock
Sit still facing each other.
Will they come to life?

Mini white flowers
Hide together in a bunch
Each petal unique.

Bright morning sunshine
Butterflies skim the meadow;
A warm breeze billows.

Shadows on the trees
Dance lightly in the sunshine;
Wind and light combine.

Warm gentle breeze blows
Bringing smells from the forest:
Childhood memories.



The road is silent;
Leaves hang muted on the trees;
Hush! The shadows speak.

Shaking in the wind
Plant's leaves quiver and tremble--
A small ecstasy.

Tiny white flowers
Join others in harmony
Forming Queen Anne's Lace.

Dark the dappled woods;
Path of light draws me onward
To a place of rest.


Tiny orange blossoms
Illumine the large green leaves:
Jewel weed blossoming.

BACK ON THE ROAD AGAIN

It has been my twenty first summer as head counselor and theater director at Appel Farm Arts Camp in south New Jersey. It is two months of great creative intensity and now back to the welcoming arms of Yerry Hill Road and the surrounding mountains.

Surrounded by mountains and laced with streams, this is a feng hsui paradise. Maybe that's why it has attracted so many artists, writers, musicians and creative folks for over a century. And so, I begin my journey along this ever changing road again. What a delight.

Blue hickory grows
By delicate Queen Anne's Lace;
The gray air is soft.

Jewel weed by the road
Glistening stream flows slow;
No need for a rush.

A doe and three fauns
Stop in their tracks to check me,
Then keep on eating.


Falcon skims the road,
Flies to telephone pole,
Sits uncertainly.

The falcon again
On top of telephone pole
Pulling at its meal.









Rifle shots ring out
Hollow unseen in the woods--
Danger reminder.

Small group of puffballs
Grow together by the road
Dream when they'll explode.






Goldenrod is out
Showering the field with yellow--
Queen of the autumn.

Pale butter 'n eggs,
Chicory, Queen Anne's Lace, jewel weed:
Autumn eye salad.

Hi Friends,

Each summer for the past twenty-one summers I have journeyed from Woodstock, NY to Elmer, NJ to become head counselor and theater director at Appel Farm Arts Camp. So, until the end of August I will not be walking on Yerry Hill Road. However, for those that are interested, I will still be publishing haiku on my site Haiku to You. It's address is:
http://haikutoyouto.blogspot.com/

Cloudy gray morning;
Pickup roars loudly by
Leaving smell of gas.

Buttercup feather
Shivers under yellow bloom.
Soft end of the day.

Balloon on a pole
Has slowly lost its pizazz;
No more block party.











Sun brushes the woods
With softness at the day's end.
Even shadows smile.

Shadow on the moss,
Sharp and distinct as the leaf;
Swift imprint of light.




Even leaves don't move;
Everything's still, in the woods--
Motionless shadows.

Who's walking in front?
He has no face or features.
How could that be me?










Milkweed at sunset
Takes in soft rays of the sun.
Soon the buds will burst.

Telephone pole ghost--
Now you see it, now you don"t;
Was it really there?

Sun glistens on leaves;
Rain is over, sky is blue;
Dove sits on a wire.

Everything is green,
Only the shadows are black
(And the pale blue sky).

A soft high humming
Emerges from the white blooms.
Bees are satisfied.








Meadow in the woods,
Emerald green in the darkness;
Sun and rain have won.

Ringing in the woods
High above animal sounds;
Could be life, itself.

Small hanging lanterns
Poised delicately on their stems;
It's deadly nightshade.








Dark imprints of leaves
Etched on the lighter tree trunk--
A moment's shadow.

Patches of sunlight
Illuminate the forest--
Play of light and dark.

Not a ray of sun;
Everything has a blue cast;
Birds speak quietly.

There are no shadows,
No play of sun among leaves--
Democratic light.











Today's a white day--
White flowers bloom all over
Cutting through the gray.








Patch of soft white blue
Lifts the darkness from the woods--
Whisper of color.














Poised in attack mode
Small spider waits on the road
To vanquish a car.

The ancient tree trunk
Joins its partner forever;
A dark dignity.

Buzz saw far away;
Invisible bird calling;
Running stream bubbles.