Between the fences
A tumbleweed bounces by
The whistling pigs
Fences, #24
Author: jpallen
Magnolias, #23
While jogging on a sidewalk a young person approached me. As we got closer to each other the person stepped far to the side. I immediately recoiled before switching to a relaxed feeling of gratitude. The person nodded and I nodded in respect for each other’s safety, practicing social distancing.
There was a lot of data to intake about social distancing this week. Both in the world and decisions that need made about my job. I wondered what side of the fence I should be on. Stay at home or go out and keep the economy going? Both sides say the other lives in fear. I wonder if both sides fear the same thing? I ask myself, what is the best way to be while respecting the lives of all involved?
A hair in the tea
Showing and hiding itself
Tea cup in my hands
On my second visit to the arboretum in Moscow in two weeks, I find myself there on a cloudy day. Both times I started off my walk with the thought asking, “Why couldn’t it be sunny?” Maybe this is the photographer in me thinking there is always something that could be better. Or, maybe it is my capacity to want to be somewhere other than where I am. Today I was able to let that go and take in a few good photographs.
Fragrance sings at dawn
Birds among the tree blossoms
The clouds settle in
Garden, #22
The garden spring peas
Push through the crusty soil
An unhurried voice
Fish Trap Lake, #21
The trail was dry and dusty as we began our walk. It was not crowded, but the few people we saw did kick up dust that blew in the wind. We ran into a couple on horseback. One of them said they had been there many times and it was never windy, but whenever she came with her partner, it is always windy. It was good to know why the winds were blowing on this day!
Along the plateau we came across a few old ponds. At the second pond, among the many birds we heard the call of a Yellow-headed Blackbird. We spotted it on some reeds drinking or eating from the pond. Soon after our stop at the pond, we headed down toward the lake where there were many downed trees from a fire.
Across the trail lie
Dead trees fallen to the ground
Graciously giving
We found our way to a viewpoint over the lake. Ducks and waterfowl floated on wind swept waves. Others soared overhead with motionless wings carried by the wind. As we began our return along the lake, within the burned areas, we passed a number of young aspen groves.
From under charred ground
Reaching for the empty sky
Aspens shoot upward
A Cloudy Day, #20
Against a white sky
A Weeping Pussy Willow
Swipe of an ink brush
In a comment in my latest post, my friend Nicole congratulated me on the birth of my first grandchild. I am so happy for my daughter and son-in-law and their bringing a beautiful life into this world. I am grateful they are all home and resting.
I wrote the following haiku in response to the timing of my grandson’s birth and how practicing social distancing and the limitations created by the COVID19 pandemic has affected our culture. I did this after I was made aware of an artist project titled “Social Distance, Haiku and You.”
Grandson through pictures
Our sick dying all alone
An ache in the heart
Here is a link to the website:
Social Distance, Haiku and You
Willow Tree, #19
This week I’ve been asking myself, what is the best way to prepare for something?
For example at work I prepared to work remotely from home. Our team prepared for the “problems” we will face to make our transition easier and took steps to resolve them. No one could think of anythings else; we were good to go. However, in reality, the self preparedness did not foresee most of the challenges that arose. Some of the preparedness helped, but most of the problems that came up were ones that were not realized ahead of time. They were unpredictable. Each team member’s problems were unique. They ended up working through their “problems” on their own. The result benefited the team.
My thoughts are about the effort and time I put into preparing for something that may or may not happen. These thoughts remove me from the moment at hand. As a result, I lose the truth of the moment and the ability to be present. I prepare to feel safe only to feel unsafe because I’ve set myself up for a perceived outcome, trying to predict the unpredictable.
Anxiously walking
In the park the old willow
quietly waiting
Red Maple, #18
The Red Maple blooms
Open in the spring day sun
Inviting a guest
Lunch Hour, #17
Putting the key into the ignition, I realize it has been seven days since I’ve driven. On State Route 270 the only car in sight is passing, we nod and share a wave. Arriving in town I take a walk on Main Street. It’s hard to believe it is a weekday lunch hour. I walk by two people and keeping our distance we nod and share a smile. I pause gazing up and down the street. Across the way there is the sudden sound of a door closing. The proprietor engages the lock.
Twist of a key ring
Echoes up and down the street…
A choir of bells
Raindrop, #16
Water ponds on stone
Raindrop ripples the surface
Vanishes from sight
Windy days, #15
The trail is dry and hard. I might think it is late summer if it were not for the cold gusts of a spring wind that makes me stumble off the trail finding something a dog left behind. Another gust of wind arrives and I stumble, almost stepping on small spring flowers. I arrive at a bench and sit, tighten the zipper of my coat, and place a hand in each pocket.
Cold Spring wind blowing
Tall grasses bend and shiver
Deep roots hold steady