crow in a bare tree
that seems right, a bluebird seems
wrong, but there it is



above hawk's eyes hunt,
below our eyes classify
his rusty red tail

first morning in March
unexpected like lions
snow falls white like lambs

anticipating
Spring, we wake to snow, burrow
beneath comforters

blue bowl of purple
potatoes, pour olive oil,
sprinkle sea salt, roast

reforming each day
waterfall of icicles
streams down the holly

Is it a lion or lamb if it snows the first night of March in North Carolina?
It's surprising like a lion, but white and woolly like a lamb.

Yes, I'm slow like molasses these days, but did you know there's a new piece up at HipMama.com?

"I Don't Know Why She Does It" by Paige Rien

check it out:

http://www.hipmama.com/node/41553#new

her small hands cupped full
of bells of all hyacinth's
first flowers for me



forsythia blooms
on slight branches leafless
bending to the earth

signifying spring,
suddenly purple, crocus
emerging in mulch

is the truth of trees
dull rough bark or early buds
shining in sunlight

Emily jammed today. She played rhythm while Joe lead.

I meant to take knitting with me to guitar lessons, but I forgot, so I did what I've been doing - making menus or playing with unfinished haiku notes sketched into the tiny book in my purse.

From today's session - at least one I started and didn't finish two months ago:

deep blue December
twilight, full moon rising, stop
and brake lights turn red

from this weekend:

white and fluffy clouds
straight ahead, I must turn west
under miles of gray

hand coffee grinder
whirring and first birds chorus
I'm too worn to wake

the sky is too blue
the trees are too naked yet
to be so revealed

from lessons today:

gaze out the window
distant pines casting shadows
on asphalt below