Sunday, December 29, 2019
The end of the year signals the beginning of the next and almost always involves a window. Liquid art. What frames intentions better than a window. If you be lucky, a cat, too. Also, a piece of proper toast with olive oil will do nicely and coordinates well with any poem which may appear. Ring a bell for good measure.
Friday, December 27, 2019
No gesture can quite capture (nor should it) a center. Nor what flows from it. Mystery is just this
-- small as a sky, large as a pebble, and the source of each haiku. Think of this tonight, as you pour your best friend a glass of wine.
Some can only be named in the abstract and yet names & details are sources of beauty. Something to consider as you eat breakfast, as you place the next gesture to paper.
Wednesday, December 25, 2019
for this time of lights. For the time of moving inward. Now, you are ready to give up the waiting, the stillness. Your feet have never given up on their love of imbalance which leads to the great dance. Put on that silver bracelet with the garnet chip. Savor a spoonful of pomegranate seeds. Read a favorite poem before leaving the house.
There's something about trees in winter. Leafless. Vulnerable. Raw beauty. And yet, and yet, here are winter persimmons for the picking. And for the birds. Persimmon bread & cookies. An haiku unfolds in the highest branches.
Thursday, December 19, 2019
Soon, it will be Winter Solstice. That time to make time to center inward. Then, time to move outward. Much like a spoon does for soup. A pen to poem. Nothing happens before a still moment. Perhaps, beauty. Perhaps, grace. Yes, to both.
Sunday, December 15, 2019
Bark reflects the seasons as dramatically as new buds, as snow. Holds both tenderly in balance. Much like simmering red sauce does with steaming pasta. And always like that pristine black notebook waiting for the first gestures of a poem -- bark & all.
Thursday, December 12, 2019
Tuesday, December 10, 2019
whatever you wish it to be and/or become, it will. You can feel it unfolding. Like tasting a favorite sauce after taking-in its delicious smell. Like seeing words coalesce on the page into meaning that surprises, that delights. The fresh dance of what is and what will become.
Friday, December 6, 2019
Thursday, December 5, 2019
Is there any difference? The distinction between red radishes is putting a fine point to finger food, don't you think? Perhaps this is a reintegration of a red fox? Or the first line of a poem that you will edit well into the morning? Only the red fox knows, and she's moved on out of rain's hearing. And furthermore, has no interest in haiku.
Monday, December 2, 2019
It's enough to simply like something. To stop, look, smile. Or in any order you wish. Don't fret, the name will come as surely as your hand will reach for the perfect spice to season the dish. Yes, just as a pen trusts ink. Now, I remember, the name is "persimmon."