You guys.
Owlets. Baby barred owls, three of them and their very proud parents, in a tree hollow around the corner from our house.
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The neighborhood is aflutter, gathering quietly, excitedly, at dawn and dusk.
Papparazzing it up, like Beyonce moved to the neighborhood.
But, y’know. Quieter and fuzzier. But just that exciting.
The whole spectacle won’t last long. One wee baby has already moved to the upper branches. But wow, for now, they’re winning hearts and minds.
Haiku 28, 2026
From snug hidey-hole
watchful eyes assess the sky
”Will we fledge today?”
Yesterday, we drove out to a native plant sale being held on prairie land south of town. It was pretty out, and the place was crawling with folks who know SO MUCH about taproots and blossoms and varieties and runners.
On the walk back to our car, I looked into a great big thistle blossom and saw that it was crawling with folks too — of the beetle variety — and I hoped they were there to help rather than harm!
Imagine my delight to learn that they’re called Kern’s Flower Scarab — could there be a prettier name? — and that they were indeed doing the good work of pollinating. Life really looks after itself sometimes.
Haiku 27, 2026
Wallow in yellow,
enraptured flower scarab.
Then, transmit joy!
(Also, this haiku made me realize — a little tiredly but also tenderly — how close we are to the end of National Poetry Month! Thanks for coming along for the journey, friends…)
Haiku 26, 2026
This great migration
burning, beating hearts and hooves
fixed on the finish
My daughter’s doing something long and hard this weekend so I wanted to do a haiku in honor of that feat and inspired by one of the photos from the day. But then I was like, “bikes aren’t exactly endemic to the natural world!” and I went looking for metaphors.
Well. You all. Golden wheel spiders do cartwheels to roll across the landscape quickly and away from prey!! What??? Isn’t the wild world just full of absolutely brilliant and whimsical and gorgeous magic?
Haiku 25, 2026
Brave and free-ranging
like a clutter of spiders
orbing over land
I have more birthdays on my calendar in April than any other month of the year. They bridge Aries and Taurus, they arrive “babbling and strewing flowers” (E. St. Vincent Millay), they “put a spirit of youth in everything” (Wm. Shakespeare).
This month, I start a whole new year, and so does my husband. And my pals Krista and Kelly and Bernadette and Audrey and Audrey’s husband Michael. My cousins Anne and Knuckles and my beloved friend Steve and his mom Mary and my uncle DQ and… you get the idea. April brings a daily cacophony of birthdays and fresh starts and surprises and promises.
And today, my friend Sara, who’s had a hard year and really deserves the goodness this new one has to offer. We’ve only been together in person a few times, but we’ve been friends for, gosh, nearly 20 years? And have been writing poems together the whole of that time. Wow. Happy birthday, Sara. And happy birthday to the rest of my April kin and to the baby birds and buds bursting everywhere. Happy birthday.
Haiku 24, 2026 Possibility! Pink petals layered like cake or unread pages…
I have been writing ekphrastic haiku every day this month in celebration of National Poetry Month, so I figured I’d just keep that up today! You can read my friends’ ekphrastics here:
You know what they say:
“A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.” – Lao Tzu
“Not all those who wander are lost.” – J.R.R. Tolkien
“It is the journey that matters in the end.” – Ursula Le Guin
Haiku 23, 2026
The dog’s odyssey:
he will not refuse the call!
Hero journeys on.
Well, it’s Earth Day, and it’s hard to feel wildly optimistic at the moment, what with assaults on the Minnesota Boundary Waters, the National Park System, and any effort at all addressing climate change. This morning I made the mistake of reading the comment section to a news story where half the commenters, it seemed, were complaining about how bike lanes steal space from folks in cars. (Yes, the top of my head temporarily blew off.)
But then I witnessed a surprising little avian miracle unfolding on my own front porch, reminding me of nature’s insistence. So. Yes. That’s what I’m here for.
Haiku 22, 2026
Potted plant as nest
Wren drops down to hidden clutch
through swaddling fronds
In Texas, when you drive to a “nearby” town for an event, it’s a 4-hour round-trip adventure on the open road. Fortunately, spring here is full of epic beauty. (Thank you, Ladybird Johnson, for your wildflowers.) So the drives are worth it and feel, in the end, more like a full meditation session than a single deep breath. Goodness knows we need all the help we can get these days…
Haiku 21, 2026
I’m in a painting:
Open road and open sky,
impressionist speed
One thing I’ve learned from watching wild animals?
How much alertness it takes to stay alive.
An inspiring amount of alertness.
An exhausting amount.
But also, that you can be still and patient within that.
That you can be ok and healthy, even while you’re a little twitchy.
That’s the part I’ve got to practice.
Haiku 19, 2026
Here’s rabbit, waiting for whatever’s coming next, ready but guarded.
