Went for a bike ride today. I have lots of backroad I can travel here. Traffic minimal. I call my bike rides 'ku hunts. I hunt haiku from the back of a bike. Sometimes it calls for a sharp eye. Sometimes it calls for being overwhelmed. Today was a productive hunt.
bird with a song
the passing traffic
Today I finally got to catch the train at one of it's many crossings around here. I heard the engine whistle as I topped a steep ridge, didn't know which crossing I was near - shifted to high gear and powered down the hill - T-bone intersection at the foot of the ridge - I didn't stop but hung a hard hard right fighting against the centrifugal motion of my wheels laying the bike over radical and there one hundred yards up the road was the train - I coasted up to the crossing, came to a halt, pulled out my coffee, and watched the action & thunder go by - a fast freight heading south - many of the cars branded with graffiti - a rolling art exhibit - price of admission? Zero. All you had to do was show up.
a moment's sweetness
it is gone
Deciding to enter the village from a different direction I turned east. Saw a fallen bird on the edge of the asphalt - a sparrow - not a mark on him that I could see - passing car or truck probably and the sparrow suddenly surprised that it was not immortal - I saluted the body as I rolled by -
a steel ghost pony
with round legs
Many roads here were bisected decades ago when the interstate was pushed through to the east - they simply dead-ended the road on either side and let it go at that. I rode down one of these today. Sat on the dead-end barrier and listened to the steady roar of traffic up on the big road. This ancient landscape has not yet accepted the big road even though it has been seven decades since it was built. As I sat there I thought of the living. I thought of the dead. I heard the scream of a hawk overhead though I never did catch sight of him. I mounted up & headed out as wind rustled both this year's new grass and last year's dead stalks.
curves to the left
then to the right
farther on goes
straight out of sight
Entered the village from the north. Past the old mill-dam, across the steel decked bridge. Up to what used to be the central crossroad where I stopped to wait traffic. A young woman there was crossing the street. She glanced at me but we were going in entirely different directions. Besides, I had dead people in my past and I'm certain she was yet unacquainted with that particular privilege.
the rise of sun
carving out of anything vertical
I headed south from the village center turning west at the graveyard heading for home. In my back pocket the 2 & 1/2 inch by 3 inch notebook I carry my captures in. I can fit the biggest little poems in there. It always amazes me.
Now it's almost ...
i drink the last
of my tea
moon gone dark
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