Back Roads Haiku

My back roads are unpaved, quiet, undeveloped, dusty in the summer and muddy in the spring. Walk along any of them and you are likely to see old family cemeteries, stone walls, streams, ponds, and a variety of flora and fauna. It's where I live, and the source of most of these haiku.

late night wrong number

the softness 

of distant lightning

    ____

morning mist

a dusty mirror

from the attic

barely remembering how I was

in my younger days

    ____

porch candle

in the evening breeze

a moth dances

maple winds -

the pages that are turned

as I sleep

a night bird calls

gazing I think

at this same moon

    ____

sleepless…

the refreshing coolness

of the bird bath

    ____

homeless man

so sad…tulip petals

at our feet

wandering

to the drone of bees

- hammock dreams

falling blossoms

a light spring rain

lulls me to sleep

     _____

spring moon

today’s kite also

locked in a maple

     ____

full bloom orchard -

on one blossom

in this galaxy

fleeting…

a drop of morning dew

in this spring gust

    ____

midday calm

a stream within

still running

    ____

will I be forgotten…

the withered 

early spring flowers

evening clouds

crowding the horizon

our limitations

    ____

tacit agreement

a sliver of moon

in her corner

    ____

sundress - 

the whites and pinks

of apple blossoms

cool spring evening

things get better between us

the waxing moon

    ____

friends

we haven’t seen in a while

a sprinkling of stars

    ____

a stray cat -

our tentative steps

after all these years

a steady rain

sleeping way past

the smell of coffee

    ____

his twelfth birthday

the orchard 

about to bloom

    ____

overcast day

we tell each other stories

of his life

peach blossoms

a new voice

in the church choir

    ____

blackbird

in the reeds

ineffable contrast

    ____

distant thunder

fits her solemn mood

a new moon

the ceiling fan

in a greasy diner

slow circling hawk

    ____

a dozen hooves

or maybe thunder

- wiping dinner dishes

    ____

ashes

of a winter brush pile  

crows rhyming

leave them…

they soften this pebbly path

crabapple blossoms

    ____

from the hills

a grumbling thunder

into the conversation

    ____

the first cricket -

a tentative toe

into the stream

mallards -

feeling the subtle ripple

of a spring morning

    ____

the heron…

we both look

at our mirrored selves

    ____

cows and deer

unconcerned as I pass

a morning pasture

morning fog

just the sound

as a fish jumps

    _____

apple blossoms

begin to open

a baby’s toothless smile

    ____

empty ball field

a robin

with a stand-up double

spring shower

the pursed painted lips

of tulips

    ____

spring shower

daffodils heads bob

to a jazz beat

    ____

spring shower

how it sounds like applause

on this tin roof