Spring is almost ridiculous in generosity. Like, if she were a friend, you’d say, “Oh, you shouldn’t have!” And yet she did. She does.

My friends and family in the north could be forgiven for thinking we don’t need or even experience much spring down here in Central Texas, but wow, y’all. The wildflowers! The birdsong! The baby everythings! The shift of seasons is more subtle here, maybe, but we are still so glad for it. And, knowing that summer is coming, we really, really want to hang on to … all of this.

Haiku 18, 2026

In spite of ourselves
we protect what’s most tender
Barbs around beauty

I was walking with a friend the other day and we stumbled upon a datura, with buds both closed and open. Sometimes it’s hard to even fathom how much accidental and exquisite beauty we’re accidentally surrounded by all the time. (And how easy it is to take it for granted. I’m looking at you, Congress.)

Anyway, it turns out one of the common names for the datura is moonflower. So, on the heels of the Artemis II mission, let the Moon Joy continue! (Nevermind that the datura is super toxic and its other common names are devil’s weed and hell’s bells. Sorry. Life’s not perfect.)

Haiku 17, 2026

Spiral galaxy
yawns into a moonflower
Darkness sits in awe

(ALSO — Happy National Haiku Day to you all. Go notice something!)

Just a reminder!

Haiku 16, 2026

Busy leafcutters
Doing more than your fair share
Small acts change the world

I have a soft spot for the animals most maligned. The wolves. The sharks. The pesky pigeons and scary bats. (Notable exceptions include ticks and mosquitos. Sorry.) Everyone’s just trying to make their way and, well, it’s a jungle out there!

Haiku 15, 2026

There goes that snapper
with the bad reputation,
dirt she can’t hide from

While human-built cairns are often purposeful and used for wayfinding, plenty of rock sculptures, labyrinth paths and stick mobiles are made — mostly — for fun. For meditative moments. For beauty.

(It’s worth mentioning the old “take only pictures, leave only footprints” environmental ethos here. Disturbing limbs, stones and leaves also disturbs salamanders, changes the flow of water, uproots ground cover. We should take care.)

And, the desire — to lift up, to point to, to decorate and celebrate and try to articulate — is ancient (see 51,200 year old cave paintings in Indonesia) and lasting (see Andy Goldsworthy et al). People carry on the tradition every day…

Haiku 14, 2026

Humans embellish
Each stone and stump is fodder
It’s a kind of praise

When our last dog Keeper was a puppy, he escaped out of our yard and I went tearing around the neighborhood calling his name. I eventually ran into someone who said, “Oh, I think I just saw him — at the house with the chickens?” My heart dropped. Chickens? Had our dog killed a neighbor’s chickens? I looked beseechingly at the dog-spotter who, recognizing my panic, said, “Oh, don’t worry. He was… frolicking with them!” And that’s really how Keeper was, his whole long life. A big lug but a total softie.

Well, apparently: redux. Because I discovered this morning that our new pup, Poppleton, admires ducks. There’s no other word for it. And who can blame him?

Haiku 13, 2026

There’s no kerfuffle
Just these concentric circles
Ducks, dog and water

Part of me living my best life is spending as much time as possible outside — running and walking and looking around. But I’m always torn about whether I want to explore and forge new paths or practice the ritual of repetition.

In the plus-one column for the latter is the chance to notice the seasonal — sometimes daily! — changes to the soil and water, flora and fauna. This is what surprised and delighted me this morning:

Haiku 12, 2026

Tender scalloped scoops
Ear horns appear overnight,
listen for secrets

It’s a moody Saturday in Austin, Texas. Gray, humid, steamy. But that doesn’t mean that nothing’s afoot.

Haiku 11, 2026

Drama of the day
waiting, ready in the wings
Curtains of clouds rise

Thank you, NASA, for letting us in on all the moon joy magic. I’m so glad the team is home safe and sound and, also, I wish it wasn’t over.

(Photo Credit: NASA)

Haiku 10, 2026

Parachutes open
wispy dandelion seeds
Our hearts are afloat

Seasonal allergies can be rough. They masquerade as the flu, for goodness sake! But the whole spectacle is really just the trees and flowers doing their business, spreading their love, surviving. Who are we to argue?

Haiku 9, 2026

Pollen drops like rain
painting the whole world yellow.
Why fight love’s splendor?