The Scenic Route is bewitching and beautiful. Your observations in Haiku form were like single bell-like notes sounded by a wind chime. I was especially taken by the connection drawn between your hands and your grandmother's.
I am so glad you enjoyed the three blind mice. That’s it came to me all at once. The haiku were longer in arriving, but they are a favorite form. It was @AC Benus who really showed me most about writing them, and I remain most grateful to him for that. It’s wonderful that these brightened your day. Thank you!
I confess to liking April 4 very much too. April can be fickle as March; I’m sorry to hear you got unwonted and unwanted snow. But I’m glad you took time to read these, and doubly glad for your thoughts.
April 1
Some say that April is a jezebel
in all affections fickle made
and even to those friends who know her well
intemperate in mood displayed,
but shyly she may show
a smile to friend and beau,
infrequently although.
She enters on the nimbus, unafraid
of storm and mighty winds that blow
across the calendar from March that flayed
the shore, the mountain, and plateau;
but through the weary pine
she may
Coats, like shoes, travel many miles with us, either on countless local trips or on unforgettable adventures. I cannot help but remember those travels whenever I put one on. Thank you very much for reading and for your comments.
That windbreaker has seen its share of deer, constellations and new snow. The parka is almost new, by comparison. I’m glad each of them connected with you in their way. Thanks very much for taking a moment to look through the closet with me, and for sharing your thoughts.
Thank you for taking time to sift through my closet with me. For me, memory sometimes needs the sensory input of objects to fully bring them alive again.
Each one of them comes with some associated recollection. I agree that some are near impossible to part with. Thanks for your thoughts and for reading.
I packed it
for Carolina downpours,
to warm chilly California evenings,
and for midsummer strolls down Stockholm’s twilit streets;
it always returned a bit more frayed,
to rest before its next
adventure.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
In the woods
its wool plaid keeps me warm,
yet camouflages me in the fall
against the maple saplings and deer-browsed hemlocks,
and in its pockets are coins, pencils
matches and evidence
of my dad.
You sensed the color and scent of the time I remembered. That makes me smile. I like the idea of a halo, too. Thank you very much for reading these and for your thoughts.
Thank you for such kind and encouraging words. If you felt a connection to my explorations in memory, then perhaps this poem was successful. Many, many thanks for reading and for your response.
You’re very good to come along with me to explore those fields and woods again. I’m glad it felt real and good to you also. Thank you so much for reading and for your response.
Thank you for taking time to ramble through the meadows and woods with me. Despite its loss, I know I was immensely lucky to have experienced that place and time. Thanks again.
You’re wonderfully kind in your response; I’m most grateful. I’m glad we can share some of the lasting joys of endless green forests and whole worlds existing in a frog pond. I’m glad too that you have regained some of that place. It is somewhere I must revisit periodically. Thanks so much for reading and for sharing your thoughts.