Grand Rapids Bridge
May 29, 2021
Early evening sun/ Caught under the arches/ Words stuck in my throat
Category: Biking
April 18 Baiku
April 19, 2021
Leafless butler trees/ Serving up platters of sky/ Our bellies growling/
Election Year Haiku
September 5, 2020
Fall comes on too strong/ Branches up in summer’s skirt/ Before she thinks no/
That Summer of the Pandemic, It Was All Falling Apart, It was All Coming Together
July 30, 2020
It’s after eight in the evening, and in this antique light, the Queen Anne’s Lace along the roads watches the sinking sun – hundreds of tatted blooms close up like praying hands, like thousands of empty teacups drained and set upon the sideboard of the day. In the morning they’ll open again to catch the … More That Summer of the Pandemic, It Was All Falling Apart, It was All Coming Together
Sunday Morning Ride on the Peshtigo River Trail
February 23, 2020
Chickadees, snowshine, tourmaline skies; Blue jays, jack pine, solitude mine.
9.6 Miles in September
September 14, 2019
On the last Saturday of my 40s, I drive alone to Fish Creek to take the Sunset Bike Trail at Peninsula State Park. It occurs to me as I review the map, then fold it into small rectangles and put it into my back pocket, that if I live to be 96, it’s a decade … More 9.6 Miles in September
Casting (Baiku #49)
September 8, 2019
Overcast skies cast over / this lake, my unquiet mind / the fish dart away /
Eye of the Day
September 3, 2019
One common tern hovers high above Lake Michigan, then dives under the waves and back again, its path a ragged stitch from sky purpling like a bruise into water smooth as a mirror, and then back to sky again, pulling together heaven and earth like the closing of a weary eye.
Cathedral Pines
July 28, 2019
Cathedral pines rock – in this ocean of green waves – I roll through and drown.
NPR Asked for Summer Haiku
June 19, 2019
I. Shady Lane barefoot at twilight we play Ghosts in the Graveyard vanishing in dark II. Rook cards slap on the porch after-dinner Manhattans kids drunk with freedom III. Beckoning June is ever-dusk fireflies wink in gangly grass as I pedal home
Halfway North 