Friday, November 7, 2014

A Haiku for November


November blusters in Whitmore Lake. It's the season of books and tea, rum punch and scarf-wearing. Darkness sets in early. The rain and wind sweep across my roof. The world becomes insular as weather stretches distances. Basho understood this in his haiku, the way a season can separate people–––

   Autumn deepening –
   my neighbor...
   how does he live, I wonder?

And yet there are letters from friends, books from a long way off, music and cheer and company. And from time to time, a word from you, dear reader.

Lines Written between Dublin and Keflavik

These words are not meant to be read in their entirety. Skim them the way this plane skims the cloud layer, jostling sometim...