17 February 2019 (stream)

moon-viewing

dark slash of the stream

running through snow

16 February 2019 (chewing tobacco)

 (The above in parentheses is NOT a title. Haiku do not have titles. It’s just a simple reference marker for me that apparently I can’t do without now that I’ve written thousands of these posts.)

before the show

can of chewing tobacco

saving a seat

15 February 2019 (snow)

bare branches

bearing fresh blossoms

of snow

14 February 2019 (ducks)

Valentine’s Day

ducks on the river

pairing off

13 February 2019 (husband)

the love I feel

watching my husband

shovel the driveway

12 February 2019 (storm prep)

storm preparation

stocking up 

on library books

11 February 2019 (wasp nest)

wasp nest in winter

my neighbors

how do they get by

This is an homage of sorts to Basho, who wrote the following haiku (as translated by Sam Hamill) that has stuck with me: 

In this late autumn,

my next-door neighbor— 

how does he get by? 

Here’s another translation of the same haiku, by Jane Reichhold, which demonstrates the variation among translators: 

autumn deepens

so what does he do

the man next door

10 February 2019 (hawks)

countless mile markers

along the interstate

eighteen perched hawks

9 February 2019 (bluebirds)

a long walk

despite the cold

a flock of bluebirds

8 February 2019 (mist)

disappearing act

mountain hidden by mist

as I drive away

7 February 2019 (fly)

two humans one cat

chasing a house fly

around the bedroom