waving daintily
the object of Spring’s desire
on a sunny day
In response to The Daily Post prompt: object.
Small worlds
Mourning ice catches the sun.
a leaf made of ice
stands in the brackish water
a wintry lagoon
where the heron fishes
for his breakfast
in the breaks of the icea breeze blows in from
the south
the sun radiates heat from above
and the ice passes away
is no more
as temperatures risea taste of summer afternoon
contrasts
with the wintry morning
as the high tide
takes the last
of winter’s icebound spell
out to sea
In response to today’s prompt from The Daily Post: contrast.
last summer
honeysuckle dreams
so early in the season
sentimental airs
In response to The Daily Post prompt: sentimental.
draped across the garden fence
morning’s Glory
dressed in indigo and blue
and heart-shaped greens
a reminder to sip the day
and taste the moments
as they are given
and received
in the communion of life
a whoosh of heat
as the house clicks and rattles
the season’s first frost
though straggly
soon they conquer all…
violets~ Issa, 1822
I haven’t had time to write my own small stones lately. You might think it doesn’t take much time to write up a small stone, but for me it does. I find it challenging to be succinct.
I came across this Issa haiku after spending time with the violets in the woods and meadows. It was too appropriate to pass up. I’m hoping it will, when I find time again, lead me towards writing my own small stones (and/or haiku) once again. It is a challenging, but enjoyable, exercise in mindfulness.
a moment of stillness
in between breaths
before the thought arises
a delicate balance
between thought
and no-thought
a brief awakening
on dragonfly wings
free from time
the dragonfly sways
where the fireflies
dance at night
In the meadow
Dandelions
Become stars
In a spring-green sky
It looks, it smells, it feels like springtime. The air is warm and moist, not cold and dry, with a green and earthy scent instead of the odor of decaying vegetation usually present during the fall and winter months. The daffodils have sent up green shoots, responding to the sunshine and the unseasonably warm temperatures. The birds are twitterpated, but skeptical. I bet even Punxsutawny Phil was confused and confuzzled in his prognostications.
The Great Groundhog has predicted 6 more weeks of winter. What winter?
