Haiga Archive

touch of wind
on silent leaves
morning meditation

harvest
‘round the clock
—dust and diesel

bungalow bedroom
outside the open window
footsteps in the frost

the criss-cross
of sheoak needles—
his old swag

empty bandshell
rain plays
on fallen leaves

the morning mist
rises up to meet the dawn
like a priestess robed
in liquid light—blessing
everything on which it rests

walking path
blown by the wind
a touch of the sea