Waiting for sunrise
 
on one of winter’s last days,
 
I savor my tea.

 
 
 

Winter’s waning days—
 
a solitary pilgrim
 
walks a desert path.

 
 
 

The Snow Moon’s long gone.
 
The days are a bit warmer.
 
Daffodils appear.

 
 
 

The year that perished
 
only a few days ago—
 
how close it still seems!

 
 
 

Days before Christmas,
 
the way of my pilgrimage
 
stays hidden from me.

 
 
 

Shorter, colder days—
 
I dream of planting fresh seeds
 
and greeting earthworms.

 
 
 

A single red leaf
 
foretells cooler days ahead—
 
pilgrimage weather.

 
 
 

bitter iced coffee
 
to help swallow bitter news—
 
dog days of August

 
 

What’s left of April,
 
a few more days without rain,
 
will soon pass away.

 
 

With pen and paper
 
a few days after Easter,
 
I wait for a song.