Deep in the dark woods,
sunshine suddenly appears:
big leaf maples gleam.

Storm slams, surprises—
tall firs swoon into the gale,
branches embrace crows.

Wild winds whip waves white.
Giddy gulls glide gleefully.
We watch, wait, worry.

Pumpkins plump and glow;
wisteria wilts, withers;
ochre grass regreens.

Crow chases eagle,
but eagle flies much higher
and becomes the sky.

Nine crows congregate
in an old oak, each focused
on a young acorn.

Dusk: two heron stalk
the mauve low tide for dinner;
only the sea moves.

Lone eagle zips by,
clutching sturdy bare branches—
fall windstorm repair.

Fog falls, flows downward
cascading into the lake—
slo-mo waterfall.

Get your Zen on; see earlier group of haikus here.

A cloudy day dawns:
a vase full of dahlias
floods my room with sun.

Warm autumn morning,
geese linger on the lagoon;
they’ll be leaving soon.

Geese pick cornfield clean
plumping up for their journey;
now they’re light as wind.

Big leaf maple hands
flutter lazily downward…
golden palms touch me.

Harvest moon rises
fat, orange and pumpkin-like—
I glow in the dark.

Geese follow moonlight,
winging south along the bay…
and into my dreams.

Clear October dawn:
islands etched across the Strait,
snow in the distance.

Morning in balance:
rising sun and setting moon
dance across treetops.

Get your Zen on; see earlier group of haikus here.

Beyond the plinks and plunks of water hitting man-made things I can hear the whole range of rain sounds. Raindrops landing directly on the ground are the low notes; when they touch big stumps the notes are a bit higher. Rain on leaves is higher still, and the plip of water hitting stones is even farther up the scale. Dry earth receiving rain sings higher than moist earth. I close my eyes and revel in the music.

Pink, red ruffled stars
compete with the midday sun—
rhododendrons glow.

Chartreuse April woods
suddenly woven with pink—
currants have flowered.

Magnolia scent
wafts through lace curtains;
I’m drunk by morning.

Five seagulls sail by
clinging to a driftwood log—
tide does all the work.

Spring’s first lawnmower:
chipmunk scurries back and forth—
how do I escape?

Tender green leaves are
really more yellow than green—
glowing with sunlight.

Twin suns rise behind
the ancient madrona tree:
in the sky and bay.

Sun fades in gray haze—
sunset at the beach today
found in a clam shell.

Get your Zen on; see earlier group of haikus here.

I see them breathing…
deer gathered in the meadow—
Their crystal dreams rise.

Green glints, sparkled sky:
iridescent blur zooms up—
hummingbird dances.

Bald eagle glides by,
long twiggy branches held tight—
off to primp her nest.

Lone eagle watches
atop the snag on the bluff;
I watch her right back!

Black birds blown sideways—
tossed, turned & spun by high winds—
carnival for crows.

Crows sound my alarm,
woodpecker drums me awake—
heron flies me up.

My spirit rises
to meet the massive frog choir
harmonizing Spring.

Steady rain straight down,
drenching, gloomy gray March day;
crows splash in puddles.

Whales swim north spouting
revealing their route with spray;
welcome spring showers.

Curled waves fling back spray,
catching the sun’s last pinking—
tourmalines dancing.

Late day reflections:
sea becomes sand, sand is sky;
change is all there is.

Get your Zen on; see earlier group of haikus here.

A crocus chorus
glorifies and sings up Spring:
five purple divas.

San Juan Islands loom;
the Strait a perfect blue void
of my potential.

Starry winter night—
full moon rises, lights the bay,
spotlight on my dreams.

Full, luscious moon climbs
through the ancient madrona;
red bark glows again.

Fog attempts to steal
moonlight shimmers on the bay;
full moon lives in me.

Deer herd congregates,
their collective breath rises—
small cloud; sky still blue.

Pair of eagles glide
low over the bright blue bay;
gulls oblivious.

Blustery morning,
perfect day for an air show:
seagulls loop the loop.

Plump alder catkins
glow red against the gray sky,
brightening my day.

Daffodils shout Spring,
but clouds whirl more winter down—
trumpets full of snow.

Heron calls, hidden
amid trio of tall firs.
Heron hears my song.

Wild cherry tree glistens,
raindrops reflecting the sun—
late winter tinsel.

Willows push Spring out
from rough bare brown branches in
fuzzy miracles.

Get your Zen on; see earlier group of haikus here.

The Saskatoon tree begins to blush, its buds tinged a creamy pink.

CONTEMPLATIONS

• What storm is brewing in your life?
• What burdens do you wish were made light?
• Can you visualize them diminishing 100 times over?
• Is the Universe playing a game with you?

Now the snow has gained momentum, becoming fat conglomerate flakes that dizzy me with their speed and force. Whirling, twirling, diagonal vectors of white softness. Daffodils have been shouting Spring in vibrant yellows, but clinging snow turns their trumpets white. Despite the gale, gulls are delirious, putting on an air show with their loop-the-loops. They’re impervious to the chill, still swooping and zooming about just for the thrill of it.

CONTEMPLATIONS

• Have you hurried some project unseasonably forward?
• Could you be more resilient?
• Might you view storms as opportunities?
• Even though you’d prefer one thing, could you welcome something else?

Crows are excited by the storm and perch on the tips of long fir branches, bobbing and swaying, cawing loudly at the wind. Deer are not bothered; they fold down onto the earth with no cover from the snow, which melts into their bodies as if it never fell. Though a fawn looks somewhat tired of it all—if not the snow, then surely the absence of lush grass. To me they seem stoic, simply enduring the storm with calm and grace. We aren’t used to March snow in this maritime clime.

Perhaps what we sometimes perceive as adversity is really just variety. How about you?

Go back to Spring here.

Still morning—gulls lounge
on the beach, lazy, wanting wind
to lift them to sky.

I draw pieces of
blue sky around me like a
shawl of summer days.

Lost: green, glittering;
found: home at my new feeder—
Anna’s hummingbirds.

High-flying seagulls
are first to collect the sun,
gilded bellies shine.

Bluebliss of clear days,
skies unwritten by contrails—
space to write my dreams.

I want palpable
lightasheat to warm my heart,
fire my soul’s journey.

Tide pool mirrors sky:
a gull flies through the water—
pink, orange, mauve, gray.

Birds blend their voices
into a concerto for
regreening the earth.

Bay is so choppy,
just watching from the hillside
I feel quite queasy.

Fat snowflakes whirled
in a vortex of white tears
spun toward wounded earth.

Doe is mesmerized,
and turns white before my eyes—
sudden March snowstorm.

Get your Zen on; see earlier group of haikus here.

Two chipmunks spiral
up and down the ancient fir—
watching, I’m dizzy.

New moon rises now,
arcing invisibly by,
yet still a witness.

The new moon spins by
sending silent blessings down—
listen with your heart.

Waves break and fling froth—
sun catches rainbows flying
up to the clear sky.

New moon setting in
a solar exhibition;
her time to shine comes.

Mob of crows descends,
weaves into a bent pine tree—
hanging dark ornaments.

Dozens of robins
animate the meadow and
search for early worms.

Mt. Baker dazzles me,
fresh snow through old firs flashes
a movie star’s smile.

Crows convene to chat,
fewer perches to choose from—
snowstorm overnight.

Bright purple crocus
wakes cupping a white surprise—
snowstorm overnight.

Freshly fallen snow:
pure, untainted beginning—
blank slate to write on.

Blustery morning—
ancient firs whipping around
still bend like saplings.

Colorful bridge arcs
over the bay in prisms—
I climb the rainbow.

Beach find: small gray stone,
black heart releasing a cloud.
An invitation?

measuring sticks, click to enlarge

Incoming high tide…
I can read the water’s depth
on blue heron legs.

Sweet songs waft uphill,
new arrivals fluff feathers
on sunny branches.

As the days lengthen
I open to growing light…
Spring pulses in me.

I watch the sunset
on the bellies of seagulls
passing overhead.

Polka-dotted branch
bumps of new life emerging…
Spring arrives in Braille.

Slender gold sickle:
I hang tear-drenched dreams to dry
on the waning moon.

Mirrored silver bay
reflecting swooping swallows
calm water moving.

A dark moon tonight
creating a vacant sky
tomorrow renewed.

Bare winter alders
glow in February blush—
pink catkins dangling.