Haiga Archive

fallen petals
spill from my basket
each one
a bruised and scented
poem for your pillow

summer’s end…
yet, this ongoing search
for my ancestors

stardrifts we slip into the depths of winter

a mirage
of mountains beckons
us homeward
we don’t know their names,
but they know ours

polar night
a snowy owl
fades to black
 

persimmons
peeled and hanging
out to dry…
autumn’s harvest
shines brighter this year

BLT
a burst of summer
in every bite