Beauty in the Eye of the Eyesore

Posted on June 23, 2025 by Maggie C

“Your yard gets a lot of attention from my visitors!” my neighbor calls from the edge of her manicured lawn. I survey my property, a burgeoning habitat for native plants and the native critters that feed upon them.

“Yeah,” I reply. “Someone recently asked me if I was letting the yard go wild to reduce my property taxes.”

My neighbor laughs, and then admits the nature of the “attention” to which she had alluded.

“My visitors ask, ‘Does she mean for her yard to look that way?’ ‘She’s planting all that brush intentionally?’”

bear grass and buckbrush,
coyote bush and deer fern…
and skunk cabbage? Please!

I wonder if those are the thoughts of visitors or of my neighbor, or maybe of all who see my native landscaping. So be it. I settle into the rocking chair on my back porch and watch bees – legs plump with pollen – buzz through the California poppies. Ladybugs dine on aphids among the large-leaved lupines, and a pair of mourning doves peck for seeds beneath a clump of prairie june grass.

summer solstice nears
farewell-to-spring’s pink petals
blossoming on cue

dVerse Haibun Monday: Summer or Winter

Fleeting Blossoms

Posted on April 29, 2025 by Maggie C

While walking through the park, my dog Chules and I pause at an apple tree. I am drawn to the white-pink blossoms and the bees that float among them. Chules is more intrigued by the base of the trunk, and the invisible messages left there by other dogs. He lifts his leg and adds his own note to the trunk.

cherry blossoms wane

pink petals carpet the ground

apple tree looks on

Day 29 of National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo). In response to dVerse prompt: Haibun Monday: late cherry blossoms.

Groundhogs and Shadows

Posted on February 3, 2025 by Maggie C

I did not see a groundhog yesterday, shadowed or otherwise. Nor did I see my own shadow. I stayed inside, shying from the cold and wind and rain.

My doggo, on the other hand, made several forays around the fenced yard, but did not report back on what critters or what shadows he may have encountered. He usually plays things close to his vest that way. A pup of many barks, but few words.

More winter, or early spring? I must wait and see.

earliest of blooms
dandelions tucked beneath
unmown grass shadows

dVerse Haibun Monday prompt: Groundhog’s Day

Equinox

Posted on September 24, 2024 by Maggie C

It is the autumn equinox, where light and dark balance equally for a day before the scale tips to favor longer and longer nights. 

Two days post surgery to repair a detached retina, I am sporting a bulky protective eye patch, my field of vision impaired to half light and half dark. I trust that this scale will tip toward the light as my vision is restored. 

There are so many cycles in nature and life, ebbing and flowing, waxing and waning. I am thankful for all that I see. 

two parts make a whole
dawn to dusk, then dusk to dawn
in perfect balance

In response to dVerse haibun Monday: Equinox.

Half Life

Posted on February 28, 2023 by Maggie C

We likely all know the trope of whether a half-filled glass of water is half full or half empty. In truth, the glass is completely full: half water and half air. Both are vital to our survival.

Like the cycles of the moon, our lives are said to wax and wane. Coming into my seventh decade, I am by force of nature inarguably waning, and yet my life is full to overflowing. As the cycle continues, I am quite curious as to where I will find myself at my own next new moon.

whole moon half-hidden

wax and wane like hide and seek

steadfast in the sky

For dVerse prompt: Haibun Monday ~ Mezza Luna

Sum(mit) of All Fears

Posted on October 25, 2021 by Maggie C

Pulling my truck to the side of the road, I double check my navigation app. Did it really mean for me to leave the highway and head up this steep and narrow hairpin road, where trees are flocked by snow flurries that continue to assail my windshield? I check the gas gauge. Not full, but enough. I hope.

I drive cautiously. The road is clear for now, but I continue to ascend, and the skies continue to darken. Jones Pass. Good, I think, as the road dips down. But a few more curves and we’re headed up again. Willow Creek Pass. Am I just zigzagging among the mountain range summits?

The compass shows I’m heading northwest for the most part, which is ultimately the direction of my intended destination. I grip the steering wheel and continue on. After all, I ask myself, what’s the worst that could happen?

toward the summit

where air thins and fear thickens

winter hastens in

for dVerse haibun Monday: fear

Writer’s Block

Posted on September 27, 2021 by Maggie C

I open my stats page, already knowing I’ll see lots of blank spots on the calendar that indicates whether I’ve posted to my blog on any given day. It’s been a dry summer, weatherwise and creative writing-wise.

Now the autumn rains are here and my garden projects are on hold. It’s a good time to write. But I need to replace the splintered door frame in the garage. I need to dust the wall-to-wall bookshelves. I need to brush the tangles out of my dog’s wet fur.

I know it will come soon; that irresistible pull toward pen and paper; that need to harvest the thoughts that have been ripening over the summer. My computer dings with an email alert: a writing prompt from dVerse. I fire up the word processor and my mind wanders, far away from doors and dust and wet dog smells.

lock the garden shed

leaves drop like unfinished thoughts

time to introspect

For dVerse Poets’ haibun Monday: Writer’s Block

spitting on the fire

Posted on August 2, 2021 by Maggie C

With July’s record-breaking high temperatures here, it’s been frustrating and – truth be told – rather depressing to watch flowers in my native plant garden wilt before reaching full bloom and then turn end-of-summer brown without setting seeds.

What happens, I wonder, if annuals can’t reseed themselves? What happens if birds and other critters have no seeds to tide them through the coming winter? What happens when spring pollinators show up and find but a few flowers to feed upon?

I do what I can for my small domain. I water the roots of my plants; can’t do much for the sunburned leaves. This fall I will plant more natives. In the winter I will feed the birds. Next spring, I will build a fountain of some sort to provide reliable water for thirsty creatures passing through my yard.

Sometimes my efforts feel quite satisfying, like I’m giving back to the planet. Lately, it just feels like someone trying to extinguish a forest fire with spit.

leather brown leaves curled

fists shaking at the August sun

give us a reprieve

dVerse haibun Monday: August

Summer Solstice

Posted on June 21, 2021 by Maggie C

The first day of summer dawns hot and dry; not like it used to here in the moderate Pacific Northwest of my youth. The air outside is stifling, so I stay indoors listening to the hum of the fan and worrying about the young plants in my nature garden. The shrubs and berries and grasses – all native to this area – are not supposed to need supplemental watering because they are acclimated to thrive in their natural environment.

But this climate, altered to unnatural heat and drought, is not what Mother Nature signed on for when she gave us the delicate mosses and ferns, the soft evergreen needles, the supple, shiny leaves of shrubs like snowbrush and Oregon grape.

This evening a breeze will pick up and give at least the illusion of coolness to the air. I will visit the garden to make sure the ladybugs, bees and butterflies have water in the little pool I made for them. And I will utter an apology on behalf of my species for the damages this planet has endured. The rain, when it comes, will be happily welcomed.

Imperceptibly,

summer solstice pendulum

pauses, shifts, recedes.

dVerse haibun Monday: Solstice I

Spring Harvest

Posted on May 25, 2021 by Maggie C

As my native habitat garden takes shape, I’ve been drawn to it almost daily. In the wet fall I checked for problematic standing water at the base of the young crabapple tree and marveled at the resilience of rain-battered kinnikinnick. In winter I fretted over snow-covered Oregon grape and ice-encased flowering currant.

As spring unfolded, I searched bare twigs for the slightest hint of green, watched tiny sprigs rise from the ground and swell into verdant foliage; and now – finally – flowers are maturing, bugs are pollinating and wild strawberries are sending out runners to claim yet more ground.

I always considered autumn to be my favorite season with its crisp rain-filtered air, crunchy carpets of fallen leaves and trees dressed in flame-inspired palettes. Now, I believe my favorite season is whichever currently holds sway over my everchanging garden.

lupines point skyward

blooming flower moon beckons

who will eclipse whom?

For dVerse poets Haibun Monday: flower moon.

What Rhymes with Stanza?

Words at rest, words at play

Tag Archives: haibun