14 March 2025 (woodpecker drumming)
Kristen Lindquist
woodpecker drumming . . .
a metal sap bucket
marks each maple
Book of Days
BOOK OF DAYS: A POET AND NATURALIST TRIES TO FIND POETRY IN EVERY DAY
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13 March 2025 (on the corner)
Kristen Lindquist
on the corner
of Winter and Spring Streets
a dead squirrel
12 March 2025 (first song sparrow)
Kristen Lindquist
first song sparrow
the warmth in the voice
of an old friend
11 March 2025 (first crocus)
Kristen Lindquist
first crocus
every song on the radio
a love song
10 March 2025 (sunlit rockweed)
Kristen Lindquist
sunlit rockweed . . .
sea ducks’ courtship calls
carry across the harbor
9 March 2025 (meltwater)
Kristen Lindquist
meltwater
a river rock struggles
against the current
8 March 2025 (March wind)
Kristen Lindquist
March wind
a perched shrike teeters
between seasons
7 March 2025 (dreamdark)
Kristen Lindquist
dreamdark all my grandfather’s clocks ticking . . .
6 March 2025 (we've been)
Kristen Lindquist
we’ve been here before
mist softening
old snow
5 March 2025 (at odds)
Kristen Lindquist
at odds
with the news
brightening skies
4 March 2025 (old snow)
Kristen Lindquist
old snow not going anywhere : : featureless sky
Read more about punctuation in haiku in this Haiku Foundation’s New to Haiku post by Julie Bloss Kelsey