I know I will write this again, but it seems like yesterday that I decided to write a haiku a day. Now I understand why Basho loved to travel. How many haiku can I write about snow, or the trees, or the moon? I try to write imaginatively, something different each day, but I also love each day’s little changes—alike yet different.
A haiku a day demands an awareness and mindfulness that’s new to me. Sometimes the haiku occurs to me in the moment; and sometimes, in the last minutes before midnight, I’m reliving the day in search of ideas and whatever moments remain with me.
This morning we enjoyed our first deep snow.
The evergreens collect the snow long enough for a wind to blow through, for the falling and curling sheets to burst in the air.
I spent a good part of my childhood in southeastern Ohio. That part of the state is rugged and beautiful—like Vermont in miniature, densely forested, steep hills and tight valleys. But almost all of the native evergreens were cut down decades ago. The beauty of the snow on evergreens is sadly missing.
····in the evergreen’s limbs just until
········I’m under them
Written for every Vermonter who’s ever walked under an evergreen in a snowstorm. And then Frost’s perfect little jot of poetry:
The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree
Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued.
Now I look forward to one of those January nights. A crystal clear roof of stars, the moon, and the glittering snow.
····underfoot—afloat in a field
73 January 18th 2016 | bottlecap