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

I like to take a little time each April to actually talk about the form of haiku.
So, here goes…

Does a haiku have to be written with 5/7/5 syllables?
No. That length and rhythm approximates a traditional Japanese haiku, but many English haiku don’t stick to that form.

Do your haiku follow the 5/7/5 format?
Almost always, because I love having a container built with strict parameters into which I can pour words.

Does haiku have to be about nature?
Yes, traditionally haiku are brief snapshots of the natural world, of seasons, of flora, fauna, weasels, weather.

Are all of your haiku about the natural world?
No. I write one haiku every day in April and I focus more on the moment itself than the actual content or subject matter. So some of my haiku are probably closer to senryu. Forgive me.

Do all haiku have a volta?
Most should. A volta is a turn or pivot, most often between lines 2 and 3, that makes a haiku especially satisfying or surprising or delightful. So, yes to voltas!

Did you write a haiku today?
Of course I did!!

I know. I get it.
Not every day is easy
Don’t be so prickley!

The spring has been erratic and has come haltingly here, but it has delivered (thank goodness) rain.

When things get dry in Texas, all the plants curl up and the trees drop limbs and we sit inside in the air conditioning, parched and yearning. It’s not pretty.

But right now, the creeks are full and I’m appreciating it.

When the creek runs high
I feel like I belong here
There’s enough to drink

This weekend was like 3 seasons all at once — Friday was fall, Saturday was winter, and today, finally, was spring. What possesses that mercurial Mother Nature sometimes? The truth is — even though it felt crazy bundling up in foul weather gear in April — I like when the natural world keeps me on my toes.

It’s a reminder:
No complacency.
No boredom.
No habits or ruts.
It’s all new, surprising and awe-inspiring, this wild world…

To build a stick house,
to trust the simplicity
of wood, air and light

Artist Ellsworth Kelly’s final work of art is a permanent installation recently unveiled at the Blanton Museum in Austin. It is a piece about shape and color, aesthetic and spirit, modernity and history. I really love it…

On a cloudy day
light and color are subtle.
I don’t mind that.