Unexpected rain—
 
the white-crowned sparrows scatter
 
as the first drops fall.

 
 
 

Pilgrim, when new leaves
 
appear on the ginkgo tree,
 
set out with your staff.

 
 
 

Little grey squirrel,
 
did you stash enough acorns
 
for these frigid days?

 
 
 

Winter pilgrimage—
 
if I don’t post on Facebook,
 
are my steps in vain?

 
 
 

Winter desuetude—
 
dust slowly fills a teacup
 
untouched on the shelf.

 
 
 

Mexican church bells—
 
even in summer they sound
 
lonelier than frost.

 
 
 

Save your outrage, crow,
 
for something more important
 
than the falling snow.

 
 
 

scribbling frost haiku
 
on tiny scraps of paper
 
destined to be lost

 
 
 

Buried under snow,
 
bright red leaves hold their color,
 
unseen and unsung.

 
 
 

Finding unicorns—
 
some say it’s much easier
 
than writing haiku.