Haiku 12
April 12

Flour on my hands
Rainy birdsong at the sill
Worth rising early

Haiku 11
April 11

Each bright bloom hurries
until this strange spring arrives.
Everyone slows down.

Living in a city, I am so struck by how quiet and still and spacious everything has become lately. It is both sad and eerie, but also — if you pay attention — beautiful.

That’s what I hope to spend this weekend noticing. I’ll pop in just to post my haikus without context, and other than that I’m stepping away from my devices for a couple of days. I’m tired.

Hope you all keep reading and writing. Stay safe and well…

Haiku 10
April 10

This new world, so still!
Our own breath louder than these
silent fireworks.

A PSA from our good, good dog who’s just trying to adjust to the normal like the rest of us.

Haiku 9
April 9

Just a reminder:
My season is not yet past,
new puppy be damned.

Stay safe and well, friends.

Have y’all heard of quaranpups yet? It’s the latest thing. The perfect marriage of all the dogs who need rescuing and all the people suddenly stuck at home, just waiting to train and love and feed and spoil them?

Well…

Wait.
You didn’t quite get that?

I KNOW!

OK, the truth is, she’s our daughter’s pup, not ours. But, hello, quarantine — our daughter suddenly lives with us! She’s been methodically preparing for a dog for a long time — getting landlord pre-approval and what not — and everything fell into place today. I am, for a moment, feeling pretty ok about staying put. We all are.

Oh, anyway. My haiku.
It’s about her — the pup — officially known as Goose Alfafa Rugbaby the First.

Haiku 8
April 8

Jessamine and phlox
growing wild like puppies
and this one is, too

Stay safe and well, friends.

I think I’m going to let this one speak for itself.
Happy Tuesday, friends, and stay safe and well.

Haiku 7
April 7

Berries taste of now,
the pastry’s round as a clock.
It’s breakfast time pie!

OK, friends — I want to make Monday still mean something.
A fresh start, green sprig, fresh blossom. Monday!!

(I know. We’re home in our “offices” trying to convince ourselves to don anything but yoga pants. Just go with it…)

Haiku 6
April 6

Carrot as messenger:
You’ll be surprised what you find
if you dig down deep

Stay safe and well, everyone.
xo

It’s Sunday. The rain stopped.
We played a parlor game with friends over Zoom.
And I just had leftover birthday cake for dinner.
Not all bad!

And yet, this is just the most baffling time, isn’t it? I know that ‘puzzle as metaphor’ is a little on the nose, but we’re quarantined and it’s what I’ve got. So, here goes…

Haiku 5
April 5

Who cuts up pieces
of sky, hill, road and pasture?
Who knows the way back?

Stay safe and well, everyone!

Hi, you guys. It’s my birthday. What a weird way to walk into a new year, huh?

We’re all in our own taped-off bubbles and yet, somehow, more connected — and more aware of and grateful for connection — than ever. Don’t you find it kind of amazing how quickly we missed what we had, how quickly we shuffled our priorities and returned to simple basic things like (no, not sourdough, but that, too) old, practiced, trustworthy friendships. Via Zoom, but still.

I’m super lucky and I have a bunch of those old, practiced, trustworthy friendships. And because of them, texts and emails and flags and scones and art and tinctures and cake arrived for me all day today — sometimes dashed to my door by a mask-wearing pal. You can’t imagine how lucky I feel. In the midst of everything, which is kind of a miracle that I hope to ride, at least for a little bit.

I’d like to share that feeling with you all. If only it were pie or wind, I could. Instead it’s just a wish that you feel both appreciated and appreciative tonight. And safe. And well. Goodnight.

Haiku 4
April 4

Friendship flags waving
bright orange as butterfly wings
Birthday migration

I am not a believer in burying feelings, but I am a fan of re-framing. I mean, look. There’s no way around the fact that this is a colossal and traumatic thing we’re navigating right now. We can’t imagine that away.

But sometimes (like, approximately 100 times per day) (whatever a day is), I’m finding the need to re-set my expectations, articulate something in a new way, look at a situation differently.

Thus this poem, right?

Haiku 3
April 3, 2020

This thing we’re doing,
scary and isolating?
Let’s call it nesting.

Be safe and well, friends.
Breathe. Settle. Nest.
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