Posts tagged seedpod
Haiku-a-day
Milkweed gone to seed in early fall on a sunshiney day.

Milkweed mechanics —
the stalk, husk, seed, fluff, and wind,
like a bird perched, flown.

Haiku-a-day
A collection of small black acorns and caps from a red oak tree.

Acorns like jewels,
smooth talismans in my hand,
crunch under our feet.

Haiku-a-day
A large tree with three large trunks with a field and late-afternoon sun behind them.

June bursts in quickly,
green rises from the warm ground,
how can it be lost?

Haiku-a-day
A fawn sits curled in a thicket of leaves.

Ears the shape of leaves,
born probably within days,
the nervous fawn waits.

Haiku-a-day
Piles of cottonwood tree seeds piled up on grass in spring.

Cottonwood seeds float,
spring birds tell us it’s safe here,
our ears fill with song.

Haiku-a-day
A handsome black and white dog stretched out on a riverbank looking at the view.

And what’s my purpose,
bright sky over the river,
clouds lift all day long.

Haiku-a-day
The beach of Lake Huron after sunset with a faint heart planting of scrubby sea grass.

Nighthawk at the beach
hidden in the scrubby trees,
singing to last light.

Haiku-a-day
The tapered end of an inland lake shining with sun and lily pads in early spring.

The small spot we fished—
this is how I picture it,
glittering, hopeful.

Haiku-a-day
Creeping buttercup growing in a marsh with forget-me-nots lit with evening sun in spring.

Creeping buttercup
stitched with things not to forget,
the source of it all.

Haiku-a-day
Yellow chanterelle mushrooms grow out of a decaying log on the forest floor in spring, surrounded by wild barberry.

Yellow chanterelles,
simple as a century,
on this unwalked path.

Haiku-a-day
A view of a river in early evening light in spring.

Evening spreads out
into every crevice
of the spring river.

Haiku-a-day
A family of Canadian Geese cross a river in spring.

Vulnerable days
among the rocks and water,
the warming spring grass.

Haiku-a-day
A garland made of dandelions found in the forest in spring.

A garland left here,
made of bright dandelions
in the May forest.

Haiku-a-day
A happy black and white dog standing on a dog with his eyes closed in spring.

Birds migrating in,
different songs in each tree
and both my dog’s ears.

Haiku-a-day
A view of a river in early evening light in spring.

Every bird singing,
the river flush with spring rain,
we know we’re lucky.

Haiku-a-day

This light isn’t mine
coming through the bright young trees,
but I’m part of it.

Haiku-a-day

From oblivion
come the broke open seedhusks
on dark forest floors.

Haiku-a-day

Its own universe,
green lichen glows on a rock.
unlike a named thing.

Haiku-a-day

It comes in quiet,
greening from April to May,
the thicket fills in.