Thursday, April 11, 2019’s Haiku

Glorious springtime

With these petals bursting forth

Before the rains come

April 8, 2019: #Haiku

Walking down this trail
Raindrops passing through the trees
Seattle’s springtime

A Haiku From This Evening’s Walk

The water’s stillness

With the sun moving westward

Spring’s daylight now ends


I live about 30 miles north of Seattle. I adore walking along the Edmonds waterfront. Many of my shots posted here are from this small city. My history here goes back a few generations. Simply walking here brings forth memories of cousins, grandparents.

This Morning’s Sunrise: A #Haiku 

The sun is rising

Always seek out the beauty

What’s focused on grows


Birdsong reaches through my window. My rest distracted. Dawn comes earlier each day. A blessing of the day. I love spring. 

Lessons I Learned About Deserts This Winter

Seattle’s winter taught me something new: deserts hate me. In the deepest cold of February, as the upper left coast shivered in a frigid, deeply embrace, my skin burned. Cracking, peeling, bleeding, the lack of moisture in the air brutalized me. Far more painful that I remember.

Over the years I dreamt of journeys through the Southwest. Wandering the desert canyons, a soundtrack featuring R. Carlos Nakai, perhaps tied to a writer’s retreat, I explore the zen within the arid land. Tranquility filling my soul.

Now I fear my skin crumbling off my bones. Needing to bathe in moisturizer. Not the most pleasant imagery.

Perhaps my mind exaggerates. It often plays such tricks on me. The dream still lingers. No harm, I guess, in holding that. Maybe the tranquility compensates for the damaged skin.

Such randomness within in my mind.

Unfamiliar with R. Carlos Nakai’s music? His native flute music carries me deep within, speaking to my depths.

 

Cherry Blossoms at UW

These cherry blossoms

Thousands of people descend

Seattle’s springtime