November 26, 2010
November 19, 2010
The Frost Covered Ground
Haiku and image by Dan Hardison
Photo: Bledsoe County, East Tennessee
World Haiku Association, October 2010
Photo: Bledsoe County, East Tennessee
World Haiku Association, October 2010
October 22, 2010
Slipping Away
Night is falling
and the sky is flowing
through its myriad of colors.
Watching as trees
that just a short time ago
were distinct and clear
draw further
into the distance
and into our memories.
And when all about is dark,
the trees and the day
will slip away into the night.
And they will be . . .
as a dream.
and the sky is flowing
through its myriad of colors.
Watching as trees
that just a short time ago
were distinct and clear
draw further
into the distance
and into our memories.
And when all about is dark,
the trees and the day
will slip away into the night.
And they will be . . .
as a dream.
— Dan Hardison
Photo by Dan Hardison
Hickory Nut Gorge, Western North Carolina
Also available:
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October 15, 2010
October 8, 2010
Directions
The best time is late afternoon
when the sun strobes through
the columns of trees as you are hiking up,
and when you find an agreeable rock
to sit on, you will be able to see
the light pouring down into the woods
and breaking into the shapes and tones
of things and you will hear nothing
but a sprig of birdsong or the leafy
falling of a cone or nut through the trees,
and if this is your day you might even
spot a hare or feel the wing-beats of geese
driving overhead toward some destination.
But it is hard to speak of these things
how the voices of light enter the body
and begin to recite their stories
how the earth holds us painfully against
its breast made of humus and brambles
how we who will soon be gone regard
the entities that continue to return
greener than ever, spring water flowing
through a meadow and the shadows of clouds
passing over the hills and the ground
where we stand in the tremble of thought
taking the vast outside into ourselves.
when the sun strobes through
the columns of trees as you are hiking up,
and when you find an agreeable rock
to sit on, you will be able to see
the light pouring down into the woods
and breaking into the shapes and tones
of things and you will hear nothing
but a sprig of birdsong or the leafy
falling of a cone or nut through the trees,
and if this is your day you might even
spot a hare or feel the wing-beats of geese
driving overhead toward some destination.
But it is hard to speak of these things
how the voices of light enter the body
and begin to recite their stories
how the earth holds us painfully against
its breast made of humus and brambles
how we who will soon be gone regard
the entities that continue to return
greener than ever, spring water flowing
through a meadow and the shadows of clouds
passing over the hills and the ground
where we stand in the tremble of thought
taking the vast outside into ourselves.
— Billy Collins
From his book "The Art of Drowning"
Photo by Dan Hardison
Bald River Falls, Eastern Tennessee
Also available:
Read or print PDF
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