A recent series of Haiku

a town is gone

hawthorn flowers

white in the sun

 

among rubble

the snapshot of a child

splashing in a wave

 

spring morning

a ginger cat leaps home

across frosted lawns

 

the robin arrives

sampling dry grass for its nest

sky is cut by a plane

 

sunlight in a puddle

birds dowse their wings

no other sound

 

emerald shoots

on brittle cement

patter of feet

 

plastic bags rattle

in wire and branch

blobs of colour

 

a wave is rolling

over the grid of streets

hush among crumbled walls

 

lichen dried silver

in the hot spring

a rain of blossoms

 

a golden leaf

in the shade

white plumes rise

 

under smooth ice

a shimmering carp

visible silence