The Morning Porch

September 25, 2018 by Dave Bonta

In the overgrown garden, two soapwort flowers drip with rain. The small book of haiku I’m reading is perfect for swatting mosquitoes.

3 thoughts on “”

Ingrid Bruck

September 25, 2018 at 5:27 pm

I smell, breathe and touch haiku in all your daily posts. So good to know you are a haiku artist of nature, And so good to have you back in PA so I can look out my window to try to see what you see, which I can’t when you are in the row house garden across the wide Atlantic.
Amanda

September 25, 2018 at 6:12 pm

Very whimsical your haikus.
Bethany

September 25, 2018 at 8:02 pm

I rather love this — go, haiku!

Comments are closed.

December 2, 2024
Overcast and cold. Ten minutes before sunrise, a yellow rent appears in the clouds. In the distance, the neighbor’s chickens start up a racket.
December 2, 2023
Fog hides the sunrise, apart from a small opening on the ridgetop that fills with golden light. Then the gray curtain comes down again.
December 2, 2022
The frosted meadow glitters in the sun. A scrabbling of squirrel claws on bark. Off to the south, a raven croaks; to the north, crows.
December 2, 2021
It’s damp and warmish. A red-bellied woodpecker comes silently rocketing out of the woods. The creek remains mum about last night’s rain.
December 2, 2020
Raw and wintry, with snow on the ground and an iron wind. I muse on the convergent evolution of “December” and “dismember”.