I've been rereading Clark Strand's wonder-ful
Seeds from a Birch Tree: Writing Haiku and the Spiritual Journey again. This morning on my walk I emptied my mind, as he suggested, and as well as I could with three dogs all tugging in different directions, and kept my eyes wide open. I paused to watch two eastern rosellas squabbling in a bird bath and marvelled at the kangaroos' ability to keep perfectly still when they sensed us approaching. Try as I might I couldn't find a haiku in either situation. No flash of insight for me.
I sat in my lounge with my breakfast coffee when I got home and gazed across the paddocks, dry and brown as summer drags on. Over the hills in the distance crept the blue haze portending another blazing hot day.
blue haze
creeps over the hills
summer stretches on
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