Eleven haikus

Golden, buried trees
Prepare for winter’s torment
As, naked, we die.

New blossom brings bees
To the orchard’s luring colours -
Harvest yet to come.

Snow lies and freezes
In the breath of frosty days’
Solar impotence.

Morning welcomes light,
Beckoning to the coming day -
Before night returns.

I kneel and reach weeds
To dig them out, roots too.
Next week they return.

A rose smells sweetly
By the ripening onion bed.
They smell when gathered!

Garlic moments now
Excite the gardener’s harvest;
They remain in you!

Beans climb to the sun
And grow from scarlet blossoms.
The wind destroys them.

We walk, holding hands
Within the dappled forest light.
Scattering rotting leaves.

I watch the moon rise
Over distant snow clad hills;
The bright night stars fade.

Clattering over falls
The brook disturbs the quiet,
Yet is peace itself.