April 21st 2016

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where
····the tree had been before the storm—
········starlight

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This last winter we lost the largest tree in Vermont—had been on our property. Was an old twisted oak, massive at the base and whose branches one could comfortably walk on. The sky has returned, patiently waiting for the next tree.

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167 April 21 2016 | bottlecap

April 19th 2016

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odor
····of a dirt road under hemlock—my lover’s
········absence
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I’ve had my doubts haiku—whether they can have any lasting value in a language apart from the culture and tradition that created them. But that’s increasingly mattered less to me. I begin to treat the poems less as individual works and more as a single work written over three hundred and sixty five days—a year that will soon enough be long behind me.
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165 April 19th 2016 | bottlecap

April 15th 2016

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stones
····splitting the streambed—mornings before
········the heat
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I know I’ve written this before, but some of my favorite haiku by Basho are those that are vivid and powerful but also grasped without being comprehended. We fell that we understand the poem, but we couldn’t necessarily explain our understanding.
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Suffice it to say that April days like these are some of my favorite, a icy morning followed by sun’s heat at afternoon. The cold remains like a refreshing undercurrent.
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161 April 15th 2016 | bottlecap

April 12th 2016

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piles
····and piles of dirt—the mole’s spring
········cleaning
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By the end of the day the sun broke through the clouds, the kind of sunlight that’s the most beautiful of all—an end of the day gold that makes the breaking clouds a beautiful black and tarnished silver. The few leaves left by the summer before let go in a calm like this—like tissue of gold.
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158 April 12th 2016 | bottlecap