September 19 - September 26: Monhegan escape
Kristen Lindquist
I'm on a remote island off the coast of Maine for the fall bird migration, an annual pilgrimage I make in September that's as much about meeting up with old friends and enjoying this beautiful place as it is about the birds. Internet connection and time to write are both intermittent, so here's a set of haiku I've jotted down throughout my stay here thus far:
Waves crash all night.
I think of a friend
now lost.
Butterfly bush:
yet still surprised to see
so many butterflies.
Between broken bottle
and sea glass:
months of wave action.
Moonlight
brightening lace curtains
the only light.
Crickets loud,
but the surf
is all I hear.
Rain falls from the eaves.
The morning
ticks away.
Waxwings in viburnum--
to find such
satisfaction.
Every yard
harbors a gull or two,
some lame.
The key is
to follow
the chickadees.
Nuthatch chorus
rings out
in Cathedral Woods.
Looking for a spot to pee
I find the hidden patch
of fringed gentians.
Thankful the kitten
was only playing
with a rock.
Waves crash all night.
I think of a friend
now lost.
Butterfly bush:
yet still surprised to see
so many butterflies.
Between broken bottle
and sea glass:
months of wave action.
Moonlight
brightening lace curtains
the only light.
Crickets loud,
but the surf
is all I hear.
Rain falls from the eaves.
The morning
ticks away.
Waxwings in viburnum--
to find such
satisfaction.
Every yard
harbors a gull or two,
some lame.
The key is
to follow
the chickadees.
Nuthatch chorus
rings out
in Cathedral Woods.
Looking for a spot to pee
I find the hidden patch
of fringed gentians.
Thankful the kitten
was only playing
with a rock.