Walking Haiku

Walking Haiku By Sharon Lamhut Willen

Walk and write Haiku,

Fingers counting syllables,

No frostbite for me.

Dried pine cones, gnarled twig,

Wind gust aged and brought to ground-

Treasure, preserved delight.

Wren song, not rooster,

Calls feet to the floor each morn-

Big little bugler.

Warm winter, heather blooms,

Daffodils and lilies pop-

Will spring still color?

I hold life lightly,

Inhale, golden light, ease, mirth-

Exhale, relax – now.

Deer tracks in the snow,

Wild turkey poised on one leg-

Doggie distracted.

Tall, brown reeds on slope,

Whoosh of wind, they nod and bow,

Childhood beaches call.

Check bushes, sniff rocks,

Pee here, pee there, mark your spot,

Doggie text message.


Curled bark, hairy vine

Winter nakedness reveals,

Nature’s rough texture.

The wind lifts the plane,

It disappears in the sun,

Unseen, but not gone.


Rough hewn carved crystal,

Odd shapes enduring the sun,

Please melt, more, more, more.


These ghosts are not white,

That slowly emerge from the snow.

Holding out cold hope.


Monkey grass tutus,

Shimmer in sunlight

Ice sequins sparkle.


Curled in on herself,

The rhododendron signals,

Girlfriend, stay inside.


Bury snout in snow,

Rub face on sisal door mat,

Doggie home day spa.


Tar-filled Southern Pines,

Deeply frozen, cannot sway,

Trunks and boughs break hard.

Chirp, tweet, caw, caw, caw

Sunrise gold, pink and grey striped.

Lungs, heart, mind, expand.


Man and nature mix,

Soft wind chimes and joking birds,

Open to it all. (or ears open to all).


Dry wrinkled brown leaf,

Folds on itself to gather,

Droplets and nurse seeds.

Most unusual,

Slow flies indoors in winter,

Buzzing black vermin.

Splat, blotches of goo,

I feel no remorse,

Killing winter flies indoors.

Mold flower blooming,

Clings to rotting brown stump,

Beauty in decay.

Fog cloaks the mountains,

Tamping sound into silence,

What mystery lurks?

White tails dart freely,

Road obscured by heavy fog,

Who knows what follows.

Pearlized bit of stone,

Once part of mighty mountains,

Now cut down to size.


On the ridge – fog, ice,

Just two hundred feet below,

Dry and crystal clear.

Purple and yellow,

Potted violets signal,

Hope for winter’s end.


Iced cherry tree weeps,

Hopes soon to trade crinoline,

For pink petaled gown.

Suddenly let loose,

By sun reaching its apex,

Ice cacophony.

Sun climbs to midday,

Glorious remnants release,

Sudden danger rains.


Why does the wind howl?

Angry at man’s careless ways?

Or just showing off?


No two days alike,

New forest nooks and crannies,

Winter has her way.


A single sunbeam,

Reminds us of God’s presence,

Dark clouds are vanquished.


Bird trills smell like spring,

Though shadowy black ice still shines,

Nesting soon begins.


Cherry greets Spring,

Garnet centered white petals,

Soft pink aroma.


Spring green, easter egg white

Little girls in pink dresses,

Fresh air through the screens.


A veil of pale green

Gently blurs distant mountains

As Spring settles in.


A Spring welcome mat,

Cherry petals under foot,

Kisses from above.


ShaSha and Chelsea

Sunday strolling; Mike plays golf.

Everyone happy.


Monarchs and hummers

depart as acorns begin to drop.

Soon fall comes ablaze.


Just this side of crisp,

Lively breeze scatters color.

Our light days decline.


A distant hound howls.

Damp soil, a musky incense.

Our soles walk on home.


Early morning birds,

Chipper with bright energy,

Feeding on new light.


Sunrise is a line.

Here dark, there a promise.



Fall opens spaces,

Now summer’s potent fullness,

Clears for what’s ahead.


Absorbing all sound,

The forest floor, newly laid,

Echoes in my heart.

Tall trees and deep thoughts,

Hike to Moore’s Cove Waterfall,

Lift up Father’s Day.


We see our neighbors,

Curtains open, curtains closed,

They show us their face.


Dim light, seven A.M.,

She stands, arm crooked, hand to ear,

Connection imposed.


Quince bushes in bloom

December without winter

Naturally confused.