rainy autumn day—
 
reading obituaries
 
as I sip my tea

 
 
 

First day of the month—
 
the tea in my cup grows cold
 
along with my prayers.

 
 

Windy autumn day—
 
the birches’ frilly gold skirts
 
have been blown away.

 
 
 

Gusty autumn day—
 
about the weather, fenceposts
 
don’t have much to say.

 
 
 

Last day of August—
 
among lantana blossoms,
 
ladybugs make love.

 
 

Ms. Cooling Breeze comes
 
on a sizzling desert day—
 
we greet with a hug.

 
 

First day of July—
 
a hawk’s terrifying cry
 
frightens wrens nearby.

 
 

On a bright June day
 
the road spirits keep calling:
 
“Follow us away!”

 
 

Thankful for no wind,
 
I walk down familiar streets
 
on a warm June day.

 
 

The day of my birth
 
is like a misty mountain
 
seen from far away.