I looked up from digging potatoes this morning and saw this:
The world can really take your breath away sometimes.
I’ve been picking a lot of berries lately, including two trips to a highbush blueberry bog, regular pickings of the blackberries in our old fields, and fistfuls of trailside lowbush blueberries and huckleberries on the ridgetop. There’s a strange intimacy to the act of picking berries, which I tried to bring out in a short series of haiku. (See Woodrat Photohaiku for the accompanying photos.)
hugging the bucket
the secret beds
made by deer
a five-legged beetle
takes to the air
snagged by thorns
the closeness required
to get free
The tiny ants that eat ripe blueberries and the tiny spiders that pray upon them might make a good haiku in more skilled hands than mine. Or even by me on another day. For now, it’s the one that got away. (It was this short, honest!)
chance of light
rain in the next hour
The one that doesn’t look like the others: treasured or thought lucky in some cultures, hated and feared in others. It’s all so arbitrary.
“You went for a walk in the rain?”
I never quite know how to answer these questions. But how about this: Any walk is better than no walk, and I own a sturdy umbrella. And since the umbrella keeps off midges and mosquitoes better than anything else, in many ways a walk down the hollow on a humid evening is far more relaxing in the rain.
the tall tulip polar
trickle of a creek
where is the bear?
the bear is any
where a bear can
bear to be
which is every
where you ain’t
A well-done parody is also an homage.
The reverse may also be true: an homage that goes all in can become indistinguishable from parody.
8:35 PM. Just went to retrieve my cap and put my hand on a Carolina wren already settled in to roost. The alarm was mutual.