2 November 2024 (day of the dead)
Kristen Lindquist
day of the dead
the lawn aglow
with fallen leaves
Book of Days
BOOK OF DAYS: A POET AND NATURALIST TRIES TO FIND POETRY IN EVERY DAY
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Filtering by Tag: day of the dead
2 November 2020 (dark)
Kristen Lindquist
the darkness
grows even deeper
Day of the Dead
3 November 2019 (crows)
Kristen Lindquist
dia de muertos
shadows of crows passing
through yellow leaves
November 2: Day of the Dead (two versions)
Kristen Lindquist
fallen leaves
returning to the air
as sparrows
day of the dead
fallen leaves
flying up as sparrows
Which version do you prefer?
Yesterday marked the nine-year anniversary of this blog! That’s more than 3,200 haiku, although it hasn’t been until the last 400 or so that I feel like I’m finally getting the hang of it. Sort of. Sometimes.
November 2: Day of the Dead
Kristen Lindquist
Through gilded leaves
crow flies with stolen bread--
the way our souls seek solace.
Posted with BlogsyNovember 2: Day of the Dead
Kristen Lindquist
Over the highway
seven soaring vultures--
what's below them unseen.
seven soaring vultures--
what's below them unseen.
November 2: Day of the Dead
Kristen Lindquist
Thinking of loved ones who have passed on while watching the morning sun appear over my neighbors' roof. A red cardinal visits my feeder as I sit here lost in reverie, refocusing my attention to the present.
Wan sun rising over
rotting leaves, yellowed hostas.
Cardinal arrives.
Wan sun rising over
rotting leaves, yellowed hostas.
Cardinal arrives.
November 2: All Soul's Day/Day of the Dead
Kristen Lindquist
Tonight as I was driving home from work, the full moon was just beginning to peek above the dark rim of Mount Battie, the hill that forms the backdrop to my neighborhood. At the base of Mount Battie is Mount View Cemetery, where my maternal grandfather, great-grandparents, and other family members lie buried. On this day of remembering our loved ones who have passed on, it seemed appropriate that the lunar light was shining down the mountainside onto these rows of headstones in the middle of our town.
When I was about six, we lived near this cemetery for a while, and I used to ramble around the grounds and surrounding woods with the neighborhood kids. There was one gravestone on the far side of the cemetery that was simply a giant, unshaped chunk of pink rose quartz with a memorial plaque affixed to it. We all thought this was the most beautiful stone imaginable, and made special pilgrimages to see it, as we would to the vernal pool nearby when the polliwogs hatched each spring. Even now as an adult, living once again within walking distance of the cemetery, I will sometimes make a detour on a walk into town just to see that stone, to reassure myself it's still there and that I know where it is, an odd touchstone to my childhood roamings. Interestingly, I don't remember the name on the stone, but I think it's a woman's. (A big pink stone probably wouldn't be considered very manly.) Thus in these small ways we remember our dead, and our past, and celebrate the full moon of the present.
November's full moon
emerges, cloud-shrouded, high
over Mount Battie.
When I was about six, we lived near this cemetery for a while, and I used to ramble around the grounds and surrounding woods with the neighborhood kids. There was one gravestone on the far side of the cemetery that was simply a giant, unshaped chunk of pink rose quartz with a memorial plaque affixed to it. We all thought this was the most beautiful stone imaginable, and made special pilgrimages to see it, as we would to the vernal pool nearby when the polliwogs hatched each spring. Even now as an adult, living once again within walking distance of the cemetery, I will sometimes make a detour on a walk into town just to see that stone, to reassure myself it's still there and that I know where it is, an odd touchstone to my childhood roamings. Interestingly, I don't remember the name on the stone, but I think it's a woman's. (A big pink stone probably wouldn't be considered very manly.) Thus in these small ways we remember our dead, and our past, and celebrate the full moon of the present.