That Which is Fixed Moves
All seven daily haiku from Haiku Andy 11/07/22 - 11/13/22
I'm writing this from an Amtrak train, a short ride back to the Bay Area to put in some face time with my work team. The travel sounds like a real hassle, but the romance of the rails makes up for a lot.
Unlike freeways, which are too often encased in a coaxial weave of ubiquitous brand logos and shopping outlets, rail lines cross-sect suburbs, remote areas, industrial parks, farms, every possible variation of landscape. In less than thirty minutes you can see a hawk lighting upon a branch, the front half of a bisected truck, an abandoned recliner in full repose, old mining equipment defying rust and weed, cul-de-sac backyards, homeless camps, stacks of pill-like propane tanks, swaths of trees in full autumn glory.
Such variety of stimuli may not spell "romance" for some folks, but I love it. I may be the one moving, yet it's the fixed landscape that seems ever shifting, ever rearranging itself into a narrative of our culture.
In other words, expect some train-related haiku in the upcoming week. Meanwhile, here's what I wrote and mailed out this week.
haiku 20221107 >> Berkeley, CA USA
farmers market tote bag straps digging into my fingers
haiku 20221108 >> Kitchener, Ontario Canada
roadkill skunk we smell it before we see it
haiku 20221109 >> San Francisco, CA USA
peripheral vision I keep thinking the heater is the dog
haiku 20221110 >> Oakland, CA USA
two cats and a dog spread before the hearth november evening
haiku 20221111 >> Novato, CA USA
let the cat pretend she didn't miss me my pillow thick with fur
haiku 20221112 >> Orford, NH USA
snow under my boots how many years since my last white winter
haiku 20221113 >> San Francisco, CA USA
winter moonlight my hands the color of bone
Well, that’s all she wrote. And by she I mean me, but you can call me Ray. And yes, I will send you a haiku postcard. All you gotta do is ask.