It’s day eleven
and the haiku are leaping
into the night skyI have no power
no super powers to help
I can only love.weather prediction
may include heavy snowfall
my forecast: laughter
Did various things at home today like making BBQ sauce for the meat I cooked yesterday. Laundry. Continued to stick black squares on the wall. Wrote a few unrelated haiku.
stillness of waiting
the busyness of waiting
no answer or end.the old drafty house
where I live too far away
and not far enough.small squares, adding up,
join the others on the wall.
hoping it will work.the purring cat kneads
and turns around next to me
compact hip warmerThe rhododendron
leaves unfurled in winter sun
filled with chickadees.
the thermometer
reached twenty something today
mid-winter heat wavepurple-grey ripples,
the light slipped between the bars
winter afternoon.
and lest you think these always spring fully-formed:
where go the hours
hurrying down to shadow
perhaps to watch stars.where go the hours
hurrying down to shadow
hoping to watch stars.where go the hours
hurrying down to shadow
waiting for the night.
Got up pretty early. Grocery shopped. Came home and put stuff away and filled the bird feeders. I set about cooking two hunks o’meat in two different ways and they both turned out well. One brisket was lucky enough to become step one of BBQ. Tomorrow I’ll make the BBQ sauce a la Reinhart.
Having cleaned that up, I started sticking squares on the wall upstairs. As it stands now I have 14 columns of squares to go… It seems endless. How can I continue to wish I have a bigger variety of blacks? That just silly! I do have in my mind that on each side there will be an increasing number of solid black squares so perhaps that will make it all go faster.
Oh, and the young lad who packed my groceries asked if he’d see me at the diner tonight, but I allowed as it looked like I’d be dining in tonight – have to do that sometimes. He’s a young waiter there who was so hassled by the family with various allergies and nutritional requirements. It was nice of him to remember me.
a plate, empty stems
the grapes plucked, chewed, and swallowed
now I sit with loss.the grapes, sweet and crisp
quenched my thirst with each quick pluck
but now, empty bones.loss travels with me
the familiar trip seems wrong
but at last I’m home.
There are only two ways to look at life: either everything is a miracle or nothing is a miracle.
