haibun – Joe Pallen

#531 – January 2026

jpallen Nature Life January 8, 2026January 8, 2026haibun, haiku, january, New Years, winter 5 Comments

This is the second time Melissa and I have traveled to the Oregon Coast in midwinter. The first time was in 2020. What struck me then and again on this trip was how early it grew dark. Maybe this is because before 2020 we would visit the coast during seasons with more daylight. The feeling I get of being on the coast in midwinter is one of tranquility. There are still large crowds like in summer, yet the seas are rougher. In all of this activity, there is a thread of peacefulness weaving through the interactions of people and nature. I wonder if it is the long night with its expanse of darkness over the sea that brings this on.

1. Sunday (arrival)

Color photograph of sand ripples in water and a sand dollar in backlit by the low winter sun.

after sunset/floating in the water —high clouds/and the moon

2. Monday

Color photograph of barnacles and sea algae clinging together to a rock at low tide in the afternoon sun.

on the cliff face/houses is side-by-side – from this hut/a wonderful view

3. Tuesday

Color photograph at the edge of a tide pool with a row of sand depressions along the pool’s edge going from small to large back to small again backlit in the low winter sun with dark rocks background.

intertidal/at the edge of the pool/phases of noon

3. Wednesday (New Year’s Eve)

Color photograph of a sunset over the ocean with waves coming over a a sandbar splashing into a rock.

Sunset wave/across the sandbar/my feet soaked

#523 – December 2025

jpallen Nature Life December 11, 2025December 11, 2025autumn, december, haibun, haiku, winter 2 Comments

I ran into a coworker I had not seen for while; I retired about a year ago. He was standing behind a table of canned and non-perishable goods in front of the grocery store. There were a few empty chairs and two full grocery carts. Because of the empty chairs, I asked, “Where are the kids? “He replied, “I’m covering the table for them while they are out getting lunch.’’ He proceeded to explain that they were collecting food to share with people in need.

Color photograph of a pile of wooden pallets, weathered, and grey, the edge of one pallet sticking out of the pile is painted blue.

piled high/weathered and grey/a patch of blue sky

#486 – July 2025

jpallen Nature Life July 31, 2025July 30, 2025haibun, haiku, july, summer 6 Comments

While at Benewah lake, I couldn’t help but to think of the relationship between the sky and water. The point where they meet is such a thin slice of space, yet abundant with activity.

Morning:

Color photograph of pine trees, blurred in the light ripples of water, at the top a western grebe floats by leaving a thin white wake.

below contrails/in the sky/a western grebe

Afternoon:

Photograph of a pond lily in bloom surrounded by patches of blue sky reflected in water and green leaves.

Evening:

Color photograph of the sunset reflected in the waters of a lake. Grass is poke through the sky and the golden clouds. In the distance, a reflection of the lake under an abandoned train trestle.

light/from a distant shore/an abandoned trestle

#485 – July 2025

jpallen Nature Life July 27, 2025July 27, 2025haibun, july, summer 5 Comments

We are in campsite #235. From a tent in the campsite next to us a father sings songs to his children, who sing along. On the other side of us, a mom comforts her crying baby. Somewhere in the campground, there is a large group playing campfire games. We hear random words and laughter. Suddenly “Pop!” Someone opens a can and there is more laughter. We sit together, holding hands sipping our tea. I look up at the sunset through the heatwaves of the campfire.

Color photograph of a silhouette of a pine tree. On a branch, a cormorant roosts with its head pointing up toward the sky and beak open, in the background the evening sunset.

evening/of the new moon/a cormorant roosts

#411 – November 2024

jpallen Nature Life November 10, 2024November 10, 2024autumn, haibun, haiku, november 5 Comments

Downtown Spokane, in the morning, I walk with the homeless as they move from their night places to their day places. We pass by the daycare window, the children eating breakfast wave. In the afternoon people are going to work, passing through, stopping by for a coffee or food at the cafe or groceries at the local market. Throughout the day, trains pass through making their usual sounds, the blowing whistles and the clicks and squeaks of the tracks. Their presence is felt in the air. The sidewalk and buildings vibrate as the trains pass through, some going east to west, some west to east.

Photograph of the green leaves in the window light, bursting from the soil of a potted corn plant between two stems. — Corn plant (*dracaena fragrans*)

Conference room corner/rattling/window corn plant

#397 – September 2024

jpallen Nature Life September 22, 2024September 22, 2024autumn, haibun, september 3 Comments

I am guessing it is Friday. Since I retired I’ve lost track of the days. I think it is Friday because of the activity after a few quiet evenings. There is the sound of children laughing and crying. The scent of an outdoor grill. Suddenly a crowd cheers and there is a big “boom” indicating the local football team has scored. For a moment there is a silent shudder through the harvested Palouse hills. I think to myself, it is time to prepare the garden bed to plant garlic in the coming weeks.

A night photograph the full moon rising over the silhouette of harvested Palouse hills.

Pulling over/on a gravel road… autumn/only the moon knows

March 31st, #168

jpallen City Life April 3, 2022November 22, 2023april, haibun, haiku, spring 2 Comments

I enter my saved location (work) in Google Maps. It lets me know it will be a twenty-two minute drive. Google is unaware I intend to avoid the highway and take the airport loop, adding a few more minutes.

Before leaving I turn on the radio and sync my phone. What playlist today? Reggae, Rock (70’s), Classical Indian music, Blues, Baroque? Or maybe skip the music app altogether and try a station’s view of the morning news?

I go with Classical Indian Music.

25…35…45…50 mph

her many droplets
burn into the mountain
morning fog

I return to the highway. Drivers wrap around me like an itchy, but warm wool blanket.

50…45…35…25 mph

Google Maps lets me know I’ve arrived at my destination (work).

Right on time.

I turn the key.

flowering
over a babbling brook
without a quiver

Rose Creek Preserve, #137

jpallen Nature Life December 5, 2021November 22, 2023autumn, gallery, haibun, november 2 Comments

We started up the trailhead, leaving our car alone in the parking lot. We walked single file, you in front, as we weaved our way though leafless branches stuck in winter’s shadow heavy with autumn rain. It was quiet. The only sound was the crunch our feet on fallen leaves and sticks scattered on the wood chip path. The day was unusually warm, but it felt cool under the weight of thicket’s canopy. We reached the edge of south hill’s shadow into the warm wind and sun; you reached out to hold my hand.

Photography, the Palouse, a low winter sun, fresh winter wheat

out-stretched rigid wings
wind weaves; feather folds shiver
her whispering cry

November Gallery:

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late summer flowers, #115

jpallen City Life, Nature Life September 5, 2021November 22, 2023august, gallery, haibun, september, summer 4 Comments

There is small patch of dry soil on the corner of 6th and Jackson streets. Two of its sides are boarded by a fence at the edge of a paved parking lot. The other two sides by the curve of the sidewalk. Because we have had little rain this patch of ground has gotten little water. The soil is as white and hard as the concrete that surrounds it. I would have paid little attention to it except for sprouting in the barely discernible crack between the sidewalk and the soil is an Indian Blanket whose blooms are saturated in reds and yellows. The Indian blanket is a drought hardy plant, but I was amazed that something so beautiful and vibrant could come from, in my view, the harsh conditions of the hard and dry soil.

while the day’s traffic
stops and goes to red and green…
a silent witness

August Monthly Gallery:

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Previous monthly galleries

late summer waves, #114

jpallen City Life, Nature Life August 29, 2021November 22, 2023august, haibun, summer 6 Comments

Last night I went for a walk intending to watch the sunset. I got a late start and when walking over the hill into the canyon on a dirt trail above the South Fork of the Palouse River, I found the sun had already set. It was that momentary pause between day and night when boundaries disappear and colors blend. I find a beauty in this pause and lose myself in the conversation where for a moment all are talking and listening in silence.

As the darkness deepened I remained lost when the night conversation began with the calling of Crickets and Katydids. In the pause and into the night there were no boundaries or a sense of time, a felt a hint of something beyond myself. After returning home I thought about the conversations I participate in daily with my neighbors, driving from one place to another weaving from lane to lane, and those I spend the day with. Two questions came to mind; where does this feeling go when walking through the pause from night into day and how can I carry it to silently participate in the day’s conversations?

Palouse hills echo
rimmed in light years moonlight gray
coyotes yip-yipping

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