By Kristen Lindquist December 10: No Trespassing So much depends upon the grey-shingled shed full of firewood. December 9: Howe Hill deer track hieroglyphs marking the blueberry field the color purple December 8: Consolation Sunset before 4, glorious hot pink and gold– light another candle.

haiku by Kristen Lindquist three turkey feathers flagging the path through the field where I’m meant to go

haikus by Kristen Lindquist Early Morning, Sound Of Feathers I hear wings flapping but fall back asleep too tired yet for the divine. Just Before Dawn Just before dawn a single crow caws– I’m not the only one awake. Sounds Like Spring End of summer– in the backyard phoebe calling again. Night Bells Buoy bell […]

text and haiku by Kristen Lindquist Mount Battie looms out the window of both my house and office. How busy must I have been today not to register such a presence? Almost twilight I realize I haven’t noticed the mountain all day.

haiku and text by Kristen Lindquist I heard the song of the Black-and-white Warbler, which sounds like a squeaky wheel turning, on my walk to work this morning. One of the earliest warblers to arrive each spring, this was the first one I’d heard this year. Warbler song– the warmest weather rolls in on its […]

haikus by Kristen Lindquist Editor’s note: “Parameters” was written late last week when the poet reflected, “Our physical world, and our psyches, [are] still so bounded by the snow that remains on the ground…and that’s supposed to fall tonight.” The second of these two haikus, “Solar Powered,” was written yesterday, when temperatures topped 60 degrees. What a […]

haiku by Kristen Lindquist In the old snow, tracks zig-zagging up a hill– a long winter for deer too.

haiku by Kristen Lindquist If not for squirrels would the cat leave her bed? What gets me up?