Bird on a wire

dark spruce, falling snow
shadow of house eave shows
flakes falling, falling

remembering snow
on old television screen
now this snow silent

starbursts on pavement
sparkling where car tires run
on salt the snow left

little evergreen
lying curbside stump upward
tinsel shred sparkles

borough truck rolls by
heavy, bed overflowing
piled with Christmas trees

small winter cherry
red fruit spilled on cold concrete
two dark spheres dangle

awkward flutterings
two sparrows bump yellow curb
in fallen petals

blossom on the street
pick up, carry home wilting
revives at the sink

pop! under my feet
among yellow ginko leaves
globes mimic pink grapes

Still walking

When I walked in the woods of the mountain subdivision where I lived 24 years, I wrote one, two, up to six haiku per walk, adhering to the traditonal themes of nature and seasons, usually juxtaposed with human incursions.

Eight years I've lived in town, walked in town, and just now the haiku start coming to me. Images of nature still, and human incursion.