August 31: Bistro

Drink in this moment:

good glass of cider, a crepe,

time alone to think.

 

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August 30: Le Vieux-Quebec

old stones old streets

I walk in the past for hours

happy amid the crowds

 

 

 

 

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August 29: Mountain nocturne

No moon tonight: clouds.

No owl: crickets.

Mountains, fields: a seamless dark.

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August 28: From Mount Philo

Down on Lake Champlain

two sailboats tack all morning:

imagine their view.

View from Mount Philo, VT, of Lake Champlain and the Adirondacks

 

 

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August 27: Moonlight in Vermont

Last light gilds the fields.

Raven calls the full moon up

for eight cameras.

 

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August 26: Bread Loaf, Vermont

You've been here before.

Greet the hayfield like a friend,

wave to the raven.

 

 

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August 25: Neighborhood gang

Behind the green leaves

cacophany of crows

and one unmoved eagle.

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August 24: There and back again on the Georges Highland Path

Out:

Hiking Ragged Mountain--

I can't slow down 

or mosquitoes will catch up.

Back:

In the deep damp woods

I lose my shadow.

Wood-pewee whistles it back.

August 23: On the mountain

We took the chairlift most of the way up Sugarloaf Mountain today, then hiked the rest of the way to the summit on ski trails blanketed with stones, bunchberries, crowberries, cranberries, and flowering alpine cinquefoil. Just below the summit we were surprised to see a Whimbrel, a largish shorebird, fly past us. 

At the summit, out of breath,

sustained by berries

and flights of birds.

August 22: On the trail

We hiked in to spend the night at Poplar Stream Falls Hut, part of the Maine Huts & Trails network near Sugarloaf Mountain.

On the trail, late August--

goldenrod abuzz with bees,

one red poplar leaf.

August 21: Sermons in stones

"And this our life, exempt from public haunt, finds... sermons in stones, and good in everything. I would not change it." --William Shakespeare, in As You Like It

Sea-stones tell their stories--

the main character is time,

waves drive the plot.

 

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August 20: Mums in August

At the nursery--

thousands of potted mums wait,

one (yellow) blooming.

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August 19: Cocktail hour

sipping tequila

under the weeping willow

as the fog moves in

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August 18: Night music

Crickets so loud

I can't hear myself think,

can only close my eyes.

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August 17: Lucia Beach

Girls hum to snails.
I look for a heart,
find a pocketful of moons.

August 16: Late summer afternoon, Owls Head harbor

Beach bared by low tide,
kids and gulls screaming.
Later, homemade blueberry pie.

August 15: Elizabeth Bishop Symposium

The North Haven (Island) Library hosted a symposium over the past two days celebrating Elizabeth Bishop, one of my favorite poets. I attended this morning's session, which entailed taking an early boat from Rockland and returning by ferry this afternoon, head full of thoughts about Bishop's life and poems, while across the water clouds piled up dramatically over the Camden Hills.

In honor of this event, I thought I'd give myself the exercise of starting off today's haiku with a line of Bishop's poem "North Haven":

Nature repeats herself--
waves rock the ferry,
storm-petrels weave among them.

August 14: What gets me out of bed

Better than coffee--
waking to blue sky,
goldenrod blooming.

August 13: Crickets

Tonight I notice
humming of crickets--
when did summer start to end?

August 12: Sky show

walking home
after a couple of drinks
the sky a revelation

Over the Riverwalk

August 11: Perseids

Perseid meteor shower--

wishes ready,

we watch together.

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August 10: Birthday

Before the birthday party--

young crows whine nearby

as I wrap gifts for Mom.

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August 9: Chimney Farm

Chimney Farm, on the shores of Damariscotta Lake in Nobleboro, Maine, was the home of writers Henry Beston and Elizabeth Coatsworth. They are both buried there in a small cemetery, as well as their daughter, poet Kate Barnes, who was Maine's first Poet Laureate (and a dear friend of mine). The Damariscotta Lake Watershed Association, which has conserved much of the farm property, held a poetry reading there today in which I was invited to participate. On this beautiful sunny summer afternoon, four of us poets who had known Kate well read her poems and pieces by both her parents while standing amid their gravesites.

 

A perfect day

to read poems over your grave,

spells to bring you back.

 

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August 8: Nuts

Oak leaves rustle--

not prophecy but squirrels

dropping acorns, harsh words.

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August 7: Herring Gut Learning Center

My nine-year-old niece attended marine biology day camp at the Herring Gut Learning Center in Port Clyde this week, and today the kids shared with their families what they'd been up to. This included showing off their art works as well as various creatures in the classroom aquarium and a touch tank.

 

My niece and her friends

show us scallop's fifty eyes,

hold stars in their hands.

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August 6: Cumulus

The weight of summer--

all day clouds gather and shift

atop the mountain.

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August 5: Eye exam

My eye on the screen:

a healthy red planet

with no inhabitants.

 

 

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August 4: Music before sunset

Blues on the stereo.

Rich, between-storms light,

the hint of a rainbow.

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August 3: Reid State Park

Wind from the west and waves,

yet I hear the young tern

and know what it wants.

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August 2: Visitors

Three skunks tumble
along the newly-mown path.
We three watch from inside.

August 1: Mouth of the Ducktrap

Low tide at the Ducktrap--

from our perch on the stones

we hear distant terns.

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