Every single feather important--chickens puffed against the cold.
Snow falling, we walk to the neighbor's to gather misdelivered mail.
My coworkers trot across my forehead's gentle arc--lying in bed.
The fawn-colored dog lies down in a golden square of winter sunlight.
The simmering pot of beef and barley soup steams gently, reducing.
The wet salad spinner hides a ladybug slaking its mid-winter thirst.
Bedtime--tucking in I contemplate tomorrow's meetings anxiously.
Brushing past it, sound of spring showers--Christmas tree in January.
The anxious dog sleeps anxiously, ears anxiously up, four legs--pressed springs.
Below are many attempts at capturing the same idea. I usually stick with the 5-7-5 structure for haiku, but occasionally I foray into 3-5-3.
Negative twelve, this winter morning--dog sniffing deer tracks in the snow. --- The dog dips its nose into the holes a deer punched through the snow last night. --- Dog sniffing deer tracks cut into winter snow. --- The world is solid--negative twelve degrees.
Warm coffee-- a light snowfall dusts the lilac. --- Light snow falls, a few flakes clinging to the old lilac.
Morning thoughts-- twisting trails between snowy fields. --- Morning thoughts unwind-- long and twisting trails between wide snowy meadows.
These open fields, once oak barrens, now straight edged, cut up with tractor ruts. --- These fields, harrowed square, mechanically cleared--oak barrens shorn to the edges.
Clinging to the tip of a tropical houseplant-- a cold ladybug.