quavering heat

quavering heat
cicadas cry
in tempo

white lie

white lie
a veiled beekeeper
puffs smoke at the hive

cumulus

cumulus
crossing the blue pools
of her gaze

swan song

a mute swan's song
from its carved wing bone
first flute music

stone age flutes

riding in the rain

My father was an avid equestrian and disciplinarian. His four daughters dreaded riding with him because he sternly and constantly corrected our form or technique. When I was 15 and more interested in Seventeen magazine and fashion than going on horseback with my dad, that's where I found myself one early summer day. I wish I could remember why we went riding together; I certainly wouldn't have gone willingly.

As we guided our horses up the narrow trail through the aspen groves and Indian Paintbrush of the national forest--dad in his cowboy hat in front and I, bare-headed, in back--a light, warm rain began. I do recall the easy quiet between us with only the sound of soft rain, squeak of saddles bearing our weight, and a horse's hoof striking an exposed root or rock. Just as vividly I can still smell the ozone, the woods, and the scent of wet horse and leather.

warm rain
only the trail before us
silence between us

moon-gazing

moon-gazing
even from this rock
an astronaut

watering can

watering can
wilting plants revived
with simplicity

by Afton

windrows

windrows
red as his allis chalmers
the farmer's face

midnight jazz

midnight jazz
rain streaming down
the verdigris chain

the shortest night

the shortest night
fireflies outshine
the stars

midsummer

midsummer
on its shimmering thread
spider poised halfway

verandah

verandah
the deaf man
listens to the rain

summer's warm breeze

summer's warm breeze
wanting to hear again
my name in your voice

moonless night

moonless night
the hounds howl
only in my dream

reunion

sepia souls smile
from a photo negative
reunion

overgrown grapevine

overgrown grapevine
unsigned divorce papers
heavy in my hand

relentless sun

relentless sun
my lips meet the cool arc
flowing from the hose

Cassiopeia

limned in light
across night's dark scroll
Cassiopeia

sego lilies

In the Wyoming high country sego lilies bloom for only two weeks in mid-June. Their exotic beauty is unexpected amid sage, aspen and pinon pine. My Mormon ancestors foraged for these nutritious bulbs in lean times. To me, they were a true sign of summer as the snows receded from the foothills.

homesick--
hungry only for the beauty
of sego lilies

sweltering stillness

sweltering stillness
the nurse flicks a bubble
from the syringe

silver dawn

silver dawn
slug traces iridesce
on the garden path

live oak

live oak
dripping moss
dripping moonlight

flower moon

flower moon
the nightshades
unfurl

afternoon heat

afternoon heat
tandem damselflies
bask on a reed

thistles

yanking up thistles
the confession
I regret

summer heat

summer heat
kimono hung on the wall
billows from the fan

rose grafts

rose grafts--
I sit as my daughter
draws my portrait

faded postcard

faded postcard
the Nagasaki temple
before

publication

Catch my latest haiku published in The Heron's Nest.

hydrangea

hydrangea
on one hand pink
on the other blue