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THREE HAIKU
music of kotogently washes angry wallsspring robin is born lightening etches cloudsarching over the cityspring rain approaches rising sun castsits glow on the shirred mirrorof the reservoir
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AND THE RAINS CAME
It may sound odd, but what I miss mostis the spring rain, so short lived, alongthe roads in Highland Park in Rochester.You may say “but you live in Floridawhere the seasons are measured bywet and dry” and we do get rain, sometimesseemingly in Biblical proportions.and the Blue-winged Teals have returnedto our wetland now almost half…
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A DRY GARDEN LAUGHING
In the heart of Nara Parkthere is a five story pagoda.Deer appear, standing sentinelalong the lantern lined walk.Up the unseen hillthe Temple bell announcesthe full arrival of morningas the Golden Buddha awakens.Young children can seeall of this through eyesunlensed, and fetter free.They watch cloudsrelease a cascadeof tiny maple leaveswhich flow over sitting monks,a stream washing…
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LEAVING
They don’t do that here,the leaves do not demand to be seenonly in their chosen seasonsand their palette is self-limited.There is no budding in spring,no malus or prunus throwing offwild cascades of white and pinkpainting the ground around them.There is no riot of coloras summer retreats and winterplans its eventual arrival,blazing reds and oranges,yellow, ochers…
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A STRANGE LIFE
The sun rose this morning,as if the day was not in anyway out of the ordinary, daysgone far too large to countfor those with finite capacity.The birds begin, their harmoniouscacophony, though they thinkit is their lauds, matins of reflectionburned off with the dew underthe gentle glare of a late spring sun.They watch us begin to…
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ONE FLAVOR ZEN
How far must you wanderto taste the pure essence,hear the pure note,see deeply into beauty,smell the first flower of spring,touch another heart.Will you grow tiredfrom standing stillin total silencecontemplating this? A reflection on Case 65 of Dogen’s Shobogenzo Koans (Trud Dharma Eye)
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MORNING
In that momentwhen the gentle chirpingof a small birdresounds as a poundingspring deluge, washes awaythe creak and thrumof passing cars, when she singsonly to you, her small voicedrawn in to your ears, yourmind, until it fadesslowly like the belland you wait for itto strike again, to feelit seep down your spine,ooze into your fingersand toes,…
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SPRING
She says her favorite monthis May, when spring’s gripis tightest, but most of allshe cherishes the rain.She is intimate with the rain,there is a privacy that onlyshe can concede, if she wants.She can take a drop of rainand it is hers alone, she needonly share it with the sky,it is always clean on her tongue.She…
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LAMBERT FIELD
The gravestones, in random shapes line the hill the morning chillcreeps between them and onto the runway until washed awayby the spring sun slowly pushing upwardas the jet noise washes the hill unheard He passed away quietly in his bed ending his dreadof the cancer slowly engulfing him his vision dimmedby the morphine that pulsed…
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an old writer and his words 