In this season of pain and protest, I have been watching my kids and yours with awe and admiration. Their rallying cries, their impassioned pleas, their lifted voices, their posterboard signs — they are using language to try to make sense of the nonsensical, to speak truth to power, to reveal their hearts and minds, and then to disrupt, teach and influence by way of those revelations. They are poets, of the highest order.

Unexcused absence
It is safer to walkout
than to hide inside.

They’re not asking much —
is it really outrageous?
They don’t want to die.

I have this special thing I do once or twice a week.
I mean, really special.
I get to volunteer in the newborn nursery at the hospital, you guys.

I do some important but boring stuff, like re-stock diapers and run blood down to the lab, but do you know what I mostly do? I mostly swaddle babies and rock them, feed them a bottle if they’re not nursing, give them their very first baths on planet Earth.

When I first started, I would look around like, What? Are they seriously going to let me do this? But now, I just find it the most absorbing thing. It’s like a mediative practice, honestly, being with each baby in each moment. It may well be the most present I am with anything all week.

Oh, also?
I wear scrubs, which is kind of fun and very funny…

Baby, who are you
inside swaddle, under hat?
Skin, hair, breath, cry, heart.

I am lucky enough to live within spitting distance of this prettiness, and I’ve spent many, many early-morning hours running on the trail that goes around the lake. Spring is good running weather here — it gets light early, it’s still cool, the rowers are out on the water with the ducks and geese and turtles and herons. Sometimes I go with a friend, sometimes with music or a podcast, always with my dog. It’s perfect, really…

Technically, I jog
but really, I’m boat or bird
really, I’m flying

I was called to jury duty again. It’s becoming a bit of a pattern, which is kind of frustrating because — schedules. To-do lists. Deadlines.

But honestly, I’m happy to participate and do my duty.
I hope if I ever ended up in a courtroom that some of you would serve fairly and with open hearts. That’s what I tried to show up with.

I didn’t get chosen in the end. That’s ok. It was going to be hard.
The defendant was representing herself and let’s just say, I don’t recommend that.

A couple of potential jurors explained that English was their second language and that reading documents would be tricky for them. The lawyer asked them if they would try and they said yes, they would try. I didn’t think they should have to, but it put a lump in my throat anyway.

I was out by noon, blinking in the sunshine after having been in the dark courtroom all morning. Justice. It’s quite the challenge and puzzle, isn’t it?

No knives, guns, spurs, swords
but we will allow coffee.
Order in the court!

For the past several years, I’ve included a photo with most of my haiku.
It’s not necessary to the form, of course.
In fact, in theory, the haiku themselves should create a picture so maybe the photos are redundant?

Anyway, I just do it for fun — and inspiration. Sometimes taking the photo is what helps me capture the moment that I then turn into a poem. Plus, it looks pretty on a blog page.

But this afternoon, on my hike, I encountered a terrible truth:
the mosquitos are back!
Tiny, vicious, relentless, angry mosquitos.
It would be fair to call them the Anti-Haiku.
So. Sorry. No picture. Hope you understand.

Run instead of walk
Hurry, don’t look around, go!
The mosquitos are back.

April is half over already?
It’s such a blur sometimes.
But then, occasionally, something will surprise you, bring you up short.
I love it when that happens.

Tuba in a tree —
one wonders how it got there?
Improvisation!

I love living in the city but I love getting out of it, too. Feeling lucky to have piled into a car with friends yesterday and found myself miles from everywhere, on acres of everything. Deer, wind, birds. Wild pigs, sunshine, time.

Sunset gathering
Four friends, prosecco and this
No filter needed

In the poppy fields
Dorothy and friends fell asleep
but I’m wide awake.

Turning from a non-glasses wearing person into a glasses wearing person may be the most dramatic adjustment I’ve had to make to middle age so far. I can’t find them when I need them. I leave them behind. I break them. I can’t believe I need them! But I do. Which is why this was especially alarming:

Where are my glasses?
Oh, just open the oven
and then you will see.

Yesterday I talked a little bit about the form and traditions around the haiku, but today I just want to say something about why I love the form.

Haiku, by definition, are small — not just in structure but in scope. They are meant to capture a moment. And in order to do that, you’ve got to slow down (or even stop) and pay attention. You’ve got to notice what is happening, which sounds hang in the air, the quality of the light in the leaves, the vigor of the dog’s lope.

And that stopping? That noticing? That can turn your day around. Honestly. It really can. It really does.

Today was daunting
but didn’t turn out half-bad
upon reflection