Simply Haiku: A Quarterly Journal of Japanese Short Form Poetry
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Autumn 2009, vol 7 no 3


Spring Triptych
Linda Pilarski



Sometimes it seems this not quite winter not quite spring will never end. But this morning the air is crisp, the sky is clear and the sun is warm on my back. Snow tracks lined with dark shadows; a horizon so wide it reaches into forever; and the sky—that prairie sky; the sense that anything and everything is possible.

deep blue…
a geometry of geese
aslant the sun


Das Reingold today—on my radio Albrecht pursues Rhine maidens. Outside, in a narrow patch of open water, a goldeneye preens, displays, fails to mount his hen. As I uncap my thermos, a truck hurtles onto thin ice, heading for fishing huts. Inside my car, Wotan and the gods cross the rainbow bridge to Valhalla.

gathering storm
an osprey nests
on the pylon


When I was a child, I couldn’t resist railroad ditches. Thin ice; water deeper than my boots; that shiver as a train swept past. Now, I listen for their sounds.

shrill cry
of the ditch…
spring peepers

When I was a child, I waited for the first fireflies. Trapped in jars—their lights flashing, hidden under my bedclothes. There aren’t many fireflies this far north. I watch for other signs of spring. Fresh spinach from the fall seeding, new shoots from tulip bulbs; the language of clouds.

mackerel sky
the quiet space
in a robin’s call


Linda Pilarski Linda Pilarski has lived and worked in the USA, Australia and Canada. With her notebook and camera, she has hiked in wild and beautiful places on all seven continents. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in DailyHaiku, the World Haiku Association Haiga Contest, Modern Haiga, Haigaonline, Simply Haiku, Acorn, Wisteria, White Lotus Shadow Poetry, Chrysanthemum, Moonset, World Haiku Review 2009, Prune Juice, Canadian Zen Haiku, Haiku Dreaming Australia and Frogpond. She is the editor of DailyHaiga.