I have accepted this invitation to write one haiku a day this month that celebrates poetry—
#30DaysOfHaikuChallenge
"This is an invitation to notice. We're all moored in our homes and neighborhoods now—let's elevate the ordinary and find meaning in the mundane...."
I'm sharing my week, in haiku. A kind of tiny journal, which has reminded me of my always wanting to add all of the detail, a wealth of reminiscences and trains of thought traversing whole countries. And the 5-7-5 pattern doesn't come easily to me; it feels often clunky, arrhythmic. But it it a meditative discipline, perhaps more so than any other, and I've always loved the haiku form when done right by others.
1. through the window
iridescence steeps
from bathing pigeons—feathers
oozing purples, greens
2. around the house
Soft red flannel horse
sewed for a child with love, once,
pastured on a shelf.
3. thoughts while driving
The ocean, dazzling,
impartially considers
dogs, dogwalkers, all.
4. nourishing meal
Potatoes simmer,
steaming the kitchen windows,
blurring what's outside.
5. spring light
Rain-darkened morning.
What light there is, quicksilver,
pooled in the birdbath.
6. mediation on flowers
blue wisteria
throws itself wantonly off
the staid old gray deck
7. while folding laundry
spiteful fitted sheet
refuses to lie still, ends
as this runkled ball
image: Last Year's Blossoms, Christie B. Cochrell
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