No Shave Will Happen

 

A short burst of sun,
Then the blue gray clouds close in,
And my mood changes.

 

  

Like sparse whiskers,
Think brown limbs poke up through snow;
No shave will happen.

Tossed on the snow bank
Pine saplings barely hang on--
Trials of winter.

A flash of rust red
Turns my head suddenly--
Cardinal disappears.

Slender bare branches,
Bare bushes and naked grass:
Winter silhouettes.

Desiccated leaves
Hang from the naked limbs;
They don't know they're dead.

Wild canine howling
From beyond the mountain top;
They're invisible.

Phantom snow kitty
Watches me from the tree crotch;
Wait! It has no eyes.

Leaving Just Silence

Welcome to the one thousandth blog of Yerry Hill Road Haiku. One thousand! It is hard to believe and wonderful to experience. After a year or two without pictures I introduced photographs. At first I meant every picture to illustrate a particular haiku. Then I found that some pictures stood alone as visual "haiku". 

The amazing thing is that it never gets tiresome. It never gets old. Indeed, every time I think that I have been here before something happens. It can be a hawk flying across my face or a bear walking across the road or a particularly beautiful configuration of clouds and sun. One thousand? Why I feel like I have just begun.

Light on the table
Radiates through the window
This winter morning.

On this still morning
Tiny sounds are magnified.
Branches dip slightly.

Like transparent bones
Icicle hangs from the roof
Holding reflections.

 

Under the snow dots
Brown forsythia buds wait
To burst in yellow.

 

Tiny frozen drops
Hang over the quiet stream
Clinging to thin limbs.

In the ice blue sky
An invisible bird calls
Leaving just silence.

Delicate saplings
Stand with their green limbs outstretched,
Embracing the snow.

Springing from the snow
Dark wires coil from the whiteness;
(A mixed metaphor).

Soft Whispering Smoke

Gray hue in the air
Touches lightly on the snow
Dulling the brightness.

It's not freezing now,
Yet all warmth seems to have fled;
Where could it have gone?

 
 

Silence fills the road;
Only the transformer hums
In the blue gray morn.

A break of sunshine;
Bright shadows dance on the snow,
And then they vanish.

 

Webs against the sky--
Naked branches reach upward
In supplication.

Assaulted again,
Old fence yields to pushy snow;
No rest in winter.

Barking dogs echo,
Like the hollow shouts of ghosts
From the frozen woods.

Soft whispering smoke
Puffs slowly from the chimney,
Melts into the sky.

Visual Rebus

 

Snow on the birdhouse
But there are no birds within;
Just a round small door.

 

Bars on my front porch?
No, just the railing against snow--
An open prison.

A pastoral scene:
Olivia, snow and barn
With one bird chirping.

Icicle shadows
Hanging from the farm house roof,
Transparently dark.

 

Wheeling in the sky
Two black birds lead and follow.
It looks like a game.

St. Francis in snow
Pays no mind to the season;
Just stands there watching.

 

Windows through windows;
Seeing in is seeing out--
Visual rebus.

 

He didn't get caught,
That driver drinking his beer;
Bottle testifies.

Play of Sun and Snow

 

Stretch of bright and white;
Shadows play upon the snow.
Third day of new year.

 

It's twelve degrees out;
I wear my Clint Eastwood coat;
(No chair to talk to).

 

Buddha and the cows--
Always doing the same thing:
Sitting or standing.

 Squares against the snow:
Solar panel and shadows.
Crows cries from the sky.

What a silly grin--
Snow maiden stands in the yard
(What's she smiling at?)

How the woods roll now
With dark shadows and white dunes;
Play of sun and snow.

Tracks in the forest
Always filled with mystery--
Where are they going?

Small cut of tree stump
Wears an elegant white cap.
(He got it for free!)