Haiku Digest #37
February 12 to February 20, 2025
A special edition of the digest this week, as I cross two milestones in this haiku journey: my one year of writing haiku (366 days, with the Leap Year), and my “super, 101% goal” of 1,101 haiku written.
I began this practice, on a whim, on February 21, 2024: “I’d like to do something creative this morning, but I’m not sure what that is. Write a little something. Even a poem.”
And so what began as a tiny idea turned into a practice, which became a year’s journey. Three lines at a time.
As I mentioned earlier this week, I’ll be taking a pause from my daily haiku notes and weekly haiku digests to focus on building the book that’s grown out of this haiku practice. More to come on that, but I’m targeting early June for publication. Wish me luck!
“Goodbye…? Oh no, please. Can't we go back to page one and do it all over again?”
―Winnie-the-Pooh
And as always, previous digests are here. Now’s a good time to catch up on those you might have missed!
Wednesday, February 12, 2025
Today’s haiku:
—
Farm girl or teacher,
wife, mother, sister, or friend —
each you blesses us
—
For Mom, in honor of her 88th birthday today.
Thursday, February 13, 2025
Today’s haiku:
—
Cloth ribbons hang loose
waving remnants of banners
that once had meaning
—
This morning a thin strip of cloth, wrapped on a telephone line and waving in the wind, caught my eye. What sort of flag or pennant or banner was it once? And what brought it to this state, to this sad end?
Friday, February 14, 2025
Today’s haiku:
—
Retelling stories
I’ve heard many times before
They’re all new to her
—
A dear friend gave Mom the gift of his attention and stories about himself. I’ve heard them all before, and most she has, too — not that she remembers them. Another acceptance of where we are on this journey.
Saturday, February 15, 2025
Today’s haiku:
—
In the breath, the pause,
the in-between, our souls hear
God sing creation
—
May you find in the pause what you need most today.
Sunday, February 16, 2025
Today’s haiku:
—
Each time we stumble
is opportunity to
set our feet anew
—
Looking back, how often do we see that our stumbles have set our feet on this new path we’re taking now?
Monday, February 17, 2025
Today’s haiku:
—
Below the surface
the tree’s twin reaches toward
its own firmament
—
An image that offered itself up, not unlike the tree, or its twin.
Tuesday, February 18, 2025
Today’s haiku:
—
White buds sleep the day
only waking by moonlight
when their beauty shines
—
May we all find those moments when we are at our unique best and most beautiful.
Wednesday, February 19, 2025
Today’s haiku:
—
Tough to abandon
hard-won habits, even when
they no longer serve
—
How to know when to stick with something, and when to quit?
Thursday, February 20, 2025
Today’s haiku:
—
Lone chimney stands watch
over its home’s blackened bones
vines climb and flower
—
I was thinking about “endings and beginnings” as I cross this milestone day: one year of haiku; 1,101 written. Which had me thinking about everyone who’s lost their homes, this year and in years past, to fires. I can’t imagine the pain of that loss, but I hope that, like the vines that climb and flower on the old chimney, beauty will grow from the ashes.
Until next we meet, Dear Readers!