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Entries in dharma (11)

Monday
Nov212011

November 21, 2011 ~ for Mark Herczog

 

a friend passes...

I play the guitar of

this gentle man

 

for Mark Herczog

 

Thursday
Oct132011

October 12, 2011

 on a maple road

Tuesday
Oct112011

October 10, 2011

 an Autumn sparkle stream

 

Sunday
Oct022011

October 1, 2011

lost deep in the redwoods 

 

 

Monday
Sep122011

one day after 911

September 12, 2011

 still morning glories

still...

 

still...

morning...

 

still...

morning...

glories

 

Photo © 2011 Patti Aaron

 

Thursday
Jul212011

July 21, 2011

 © 2011 Patti Aaron

after sunrise 

before summer 

 

sets 

~ Peach 

 

Sunday
Jul172011

July 17, 2011

desiccated dream

desicated dream...

this waterhole

another mirage 

~ Peach ~

 

Tuesday
May312011

May 31, 2011

 

who knows 

where wind blows after

it touches me...

 ~ Peach ~ 


Monday
May232011

May 23, 2011 ~ Monarch caterpillars eat milkweed leaves and become Monarch butterflies... Monarch butterflies lay their eggs in milkweed...

 

monarchs 

dine where caterpillars 

used to eat 

 

lavender milkweed 

flowers... caterpillars... soon 

Monarch butterflies 

 ~ Peach


Sunday
May152011

 

May 15, 2011 ~ haibun ~

  

After the Book of Spring

 

leave spring behind… 

empty blue robin eggs… 

geese are gone…

 

Each page of the Book of Spring says something… nothing… everything. A

volume filled with the sound of things arriving for the first time, of things returning.

When taken together, the pages are a song of colors where there were no colors.

Sandhill Cranes and Whistling Swans arrive with spring then continue north

before summer slips in. 

Robins split from their winter Flockopolis and build nests of twitter, split hairs

and side effects in tall bushes and spring trees, in steeples, edges of attics, and dabbed on brick ledges outside the common room window. 

While they hook up, breed and brood I ask the Commonwealth of Virginia, “Does Virginia have an official name for the color of a robins egg?” 

“It’s light blue to you,” they say. 

“For the record,” I whisper, “I hear eleven shades of blue I know are true.”

 

When every robins nest is empty 

and the Tule Swan is gone, 

Warm up with the first 

Symphony of Summer Song.

 

Awaken scarlet-splashed blackbirds 

in a mustard field at dawn… 

Each year that much older, 

another season has moved on.

 

 

Written while the sun went down 

Arlington, Virginia 

May 15, 2011 

- Peach

 

Monday
May092011

May 9, 2011

 

don't be like me

even though we're like the melon

split in two

 - Bashõ

 

don't be like me

even though we're like the pomegranate

full of seeds

~ Peach