Late Winter Haiku
13 poems from the last few weeks of winter
A Beginning
Everything asog, aflutter in this free world unfrozen open.
Sometimes I make multiple attempts to capture the same idea, as below.
Tucked
My body, roots, bulbs, stirring with wild dreams under over-warm covers. - Under the heated covers, wild dreams emerging into dawn’s fresh light.
At Dawn
No longer silent, the snowy sunrise—birdsong, too, fills the cold sky.
An Encounter
Squinting on the porch the first bee of spring checks me for early blossoms.
A Picture
Yesterday’s soft snow already melting, framing busy wooing doves.
The poem below requires a bit of explanation. When I was young, my family made frequent summer camping trips throughout the state of Michigan. It wasn't uncommon for the campgrounds we stayed at to have manual hand pumps for water. Anyone who has ever used one of these is familiar with the shrieking, creaking noises they emit on the first few cranks. For whatever reason, my brain has associated the call of the Red-winged Blackbird with these noises. Now, every time I hear them (which is all the time, other than during the winter) I am reminded of childhood camping trips and those old pumps.
Red-winged Blackbirds
They’re back—cast iron black, singing their water pump song, shrieking to life.
Musing
Laying late-winter straw in the quiet garden. No task completes it.
Contrast
A pounding March rain, tremendous after winter’s dark, whispering nights.
Migration
Broadened with snowmelt, the pond’s surface holds a sky filled with flight—ducks, geese.
Gratitude
Kneeling, I begin in the asparagus bed— knees to ground, weeding.
A Reflection
Balmy November stretches, March squalling with snow— Spring mirroring Fall.
Seasonal Calculations
Counting live chicks, feet of broken fence, garlic tips, risky days of frost.