February 26th 2016

Yesterday’s haiku didn’t end the way it began. It began with an image of water on ice—just the smallest amount, like a sheen, enough for the wind to ripple. An early suggestion of spring. But no matter how I tried, the observation never seemed to rise from the page. When I removed the water and the ripples, the original impetus for the haiku, I fell in love with it. It’s the closest I’ve come, I think, to capturing what I love about Basho’s haiku. It’s the ineffable observation that’s incomprehensible but somehow understood.  Life is a little like that too.
····the color of ink —writing before
There may be little work this coming month, but I’m looking forward to writing.
112 February 26th 2016 | bottlecap

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