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:

Tricia
Sara
Tanita
Mary Lee
Laura

And Irene Latham is hosting Poetry Friday today! Tra la! Enjoy!

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

Some early morning moments are just kind of holy, right?
It’s the dog days of National Poetry Month, folks.

Haiku 20, 2026

Moment of worship:
Is it the dog or the stick
we see bowing down?

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.

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