An idea, not new by any means, but new for me — a haiku each day as the next season unfolds.  I brought a haiku to my Yogurt Poets meeting last night, and was caught by the tight examination of words, the spareness that haiku demands, the strict attention.  Several years ago, a colleague, struggling with the intensity and time suck of her job, started writing a haiku each day, as a way to be doing something creative, meditative, and not work each day.  I’m feeling untethered lately from my poetic self, so this is a small step back towards that awareness.  Here goes.

A stream of smoke curves
Over the slope of pasture
Hung in morning cold.

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