| spring ku ku ka choo |
| gray layers dissolve into the bay first day of spring |
| new born daffodil not yet knowing the rules dreams of forever |
| fresh melted trickle seeks its shore to the sea |
open wide to quench their thirst daffodils |
| laundry lint tourists contribution to the bird house |
| violets sprout in overgrown weeds �Keep Off Bridge" |
| two weeks later I plant the hyacinth earth resurrected |
| remembering the scent of green me and my bike *moments, June, 2002 |
| velvet faces pansies peek up from the sidewalk |
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| spring raindrops on an old tin roof the fire dies |
| twilight rain dogwoods illuminate the garden path |
| a gem dangles from the crescent moon April's Jupiter |
| roadside cherry blossoms decorate small town America |
| swept fireplace driftwood and sea shells replace the winter |
| something stirring under last winter�s leaves tulip spuds |
| my mother's poppies still spreading their red long after she's gone *World Haiku Review, November, 2002 |
| careful steps crocuses jab their way through the snow |
| cherry blossom morning~ jaybird shares his good fortune in song |
| Home I spring ku I summer song I leaving I winter sail I notes I journal I keimyaku I haiga I bio I connections |
| spring rain another bit of snowfence falls into the sea *World Haiku Review, August, 2002 |
| finally spring...a haibun On the path to the sea, broken pinecones and dried needles crunch underfoot. The sea grass remains brown and in some spots is matted to the sand from the heaviness of the last snowfall. Between dilapidated sections of snow fence that fail to restrain the sand, the wild shrubs are gnarled and blossomless. Ascending the wooden steps is cumbersome. Sand dragged up by the raging winter water is still piled high on the stairway. The overlook too is blanketed with sand. Only the bench and a narrow path descending to the beach have been cleared, possibly by the surfers who refuse to let anything hold them back from the curl. Finally though, on this day in mid-April, I feel Spring for the first time this year. The sky is clear. Temperatures have reached the mid-seventies. The cool breeze blowing off the water makes the hair on my arms stand up but the sun is warm and welcoming. I close my eyes, tilt my face up towards the sun and listen to the waves crash on the beach. With the moon in its full phase even the low tide is high. The waves roll in steady, thundering and full of foam. The strong scent of salt water is carried in the air. On the beach wandering lines of sparkling sea glass and bits of shells, logs and twigs deposited by the sea mark the assorted winter tides now behind us. Atop the dunes, the grass is green and bending with the breeze. between the sea's song and the roofer's hammering plovers twitter |
| on a spring breeze the scent of the sea his cheek on mine |
| spring shower the music box plays "eidelweiss" |
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