Tag: haiga

empty nest still the bird sings (haiga)

gossiping among themselves their stories centuries old (haiga – click through to view)

first rain releasing held breath of summer (click to see haiga)

nearly spring — a shadow of the words you left behind (haiga)

spring sunlight rose tinted glasses accent a black eye (haiga)

untouched for two days my journal waits, patient as an atom bomb

unexplored world from behind the neighbor?s fence a cosmos (haiga)

calm mist the cowbells marching (haiga)

first drizzle … all that was left unsaid in your eyes (haiga)

dawn stillness a blue heron rising without a ripple

woodpecker song luring me deeper into solitude (haiga)

letting go the party continues without us (haiga)

wildflower walk the path veers off through winter (haiga)

Haiga: a few ducks for company the long way home

haiga: just where the sky meets the sea — laughing gulls

sere grasses … summer threads unraveling

old love letters your words in light and shadow   photo by Frank Russell

chilly morning my spring coat stays packed (haiga)

my father?s country– each year he goes home for the last time (haiga)

fall migration … many wings beat against a moon drum (haiga)

when caught how to release resentment? as wind disperses water as water erodes stone (haiga)

glassy lake flocks of snow geese pull up the moon (haiga)

bone density … the broken stems of sunflowers

beachcombing the detritus of us

water and stone how we shape each other

mouth of the river an ever-changing story told to the sea (haiga)

hospice pond a ripple settles into stillness

redwood time . . . the steady journey from earth to sky (haiga)

mountain meadow ten thousand ways to open to grace (haiga)

plain brown bulb the mystery of becoming (haiga)

northern lights the blur of scarves as skaters pass (haiga)

self storage the bits we keep to ourselves (haiga)

mossy log a ruffled grouse drums up the dawn (haiga)

living will the kids know all I need in the end sunlight on my face and ice cream every day (haiga)

beach umbrella all day the orbit of its shadow (haiga)

dawn your body?s outline follow?s mine (haiga)

fox tracks … who was I before I was tamed? (haiga)

gloomy morning a windchime paddle loses its momentum we long for life as it was and the return to normal (tanka with painting)

dawn meditation the valley surrenders its mist (haiga)

in the beginning cherry blossoms (haiga)

the measure of a life the flower that blooms for a single day (haiga)

morning birdsong so many small reunions (haiga)

thunder clap ravens fly at the dream?s collapse (haiga)

berry-picking even our shadows turn blue (haiga)

bright green needles on the fire-scarred redwood what we?ve each survived (haiga)

point A to point B … is life ever really that simple (haiga)

tall grass carries the scent of the sea fishing memories from my childhood the father I lost (haiga)

between the pages of a half-price guidebook — the colors of someone’s autumn (haiga)

my easel stands neglected in the corner still flecked with bright colors of a world I no longer recognize (haiga)

scattered thoughts going where the wind takes me (haiga)

telling stories of long ago the sound of rain (haiga)

babushka dolls carrying my ancestors inside of me (haiga)

A smudge of blackbirds swirling into evening . . . how fluid the shape of this sorrow (haiga)

home from work the intimacy and loneliness of a shared wall (haiga)

unheeded love songs freeze between worlds (haiga)

the ups and downs of a September day goldfinches (haiga)

riptide / we won’t go back (haiga/formatted haiku)

the music of the spheres in my dreams I know the words (haiga)

Mining for gold at dawn kalinga sagar (haiga)

deep river the places that call us home (haiga)

fern spores the ellipsis after your goodbye (haiga)

prairie gale the groan of a silo holding steady (haiga)

to love this body just as it is twisted shore pines (haiga)

indian summer holding on and letting go (haiga)

the struggle to keep going summer heat (haiga)

finding a place to rest the scent of autumn (haiga)

evening walk— empty street but for the sun (haiga)

one hiker out of millions a pebble loosens (haiku by Agnes Eva Savich, art by Linda Miles)

the blue hour you slipped away without a sound (haiga)

spring hanging her best silks in the wind (haiga)

migration the changing course of my life (haiga)

deep in the blossoming one honeybee (haiga)

sun-striped path the forest’s outbreath fills our lungs (haiga)

the odd angles of dissent bamboo grove (haiga)

bridging my two worlds a breath (haiga)

solar eclipse the time we choose to look away (haiga)

the shape of a life one sparkling wave returns to the sea (haiga)

indigo sky one flies over center field (haiga)

refugee train small hands starfished against the glass (haiga)