Frozen

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After an unseasonable October snowstorm, my mother’s power has been out for three days. She shuttles back and forth between friends’ houses and the hospital where my grandfather is eking out an existence in the wake of a heart attack he didn’t tell anyone he’d had, stopping at home every so often to check on her frozen foods buried in the snow. She tells me about her friend’s maple tree, the red leaves at the height of their beauty, the white snow setting them off in unexpected fashion. I get fixated on that image and forget to listen to what she’s telling me about her plans for my future.

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low clouds
from day to day
my bookmark never moves

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Haibun Today, September 2012

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(nothing I didn’t know)

(Photo: William Warby)

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nothing
I didn’t know
before
maple
after
maple

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Notes from the Gean 3:2, September 2011

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This haiku was also here before, in a slightly different version.

Maple trees are not as ubiquitous here in the Midwest, but in New England, in the fall, it can sometimes feel like the entire world is made of maples. This is not a bad thing. They are blazing and glorious. All summer you hardly notice them, they just blend in with the other trees, but then suddenly, in late September, there they are… maple after maple.

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December 2: 1 line, 3 lines, 2 lines, 4

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without a miracle doubt creeping into the violets

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if things were coming to an end

fireflies

here             and                 there

 

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nothing I didn’t know before

maple after maple

 

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if x then y

all my logic

buried under

the first snow