The week before last, Rick enthusiastically announced that THIS was the week he would go to  to attend his FIRST Haiku Northwest Society monthly meeting on Mercer Island.  For four or five years now, writing Haiku has become a way of life for Rick.  Writing Haiku is a way for Rick to pay attention to nature-nature, as well as to human-nature.  He was personally invited to join the Haiku Northwest Society by the president of the circle! He has been wanting to go for months now, but it seems that every time the meeting date comes along, something interferes with Rick’s plan of attending.

The evening arrived! He left in a rush, all excited to finally be going to one of the meetings!  Less than an hour later, he came home.

“Wrong night,” he explained to my quizzical expression at seeing him home so soon.  He went all the way to the Mercer Island meeting point, only to find no one there!  “It’s next Thursday.”

“But you can’t go next Thursday!  We have plans to go to Kelley and Jack’s for dinner!  We told Don and Simone we’d pick them up and carpool together.”

“Well, I am committed to attending the Haiku Northwest Society meeting and that’s what I’m doing!”

“But, you’re committed to the evening at Kelley and Jack’s! We made this plan a while ago!”

“I’M GOING TO THE HAIKU NORTHWEST SOCIETY MEETING NEXT WEEK!  I’M NOT MISSING IT AGAIN!”

So, that’s what happened.  On Thursday, I went to Kelley and Jack’s for a fabulous dinner evening, along with Don and Simone, and had a fantastic time.  I met Terri and enjoyed her company and conversation immensely.  And Rick went to the Haiku Northwest Society and had a great time meeting other Haiku writers!

Rick sends out a beautiful collection of his Haiku to friends every first of the year.  Here are some of his Haiku which were not sent out in this current New Year’s Greeting.  Enjoy!

ancient bickering
of crows—both clans flying off
triumphantly

flicks her pert white tail
then trots just out of reach
of her horned suitor

guarding the women
peeing off the trail—he’s ambushed
by mosquitoes

harvest moon—
came home with chanterelles
to bowl of squash soup

impatient birds—
complaining to the sky
to let there be light

late summer’s bliss—
my wife and a hummingbird
taking turns singing

no fools the robins—
built their nest right under
the crows’ noses

slipping off a log
bumps and splashes his way down
head under water

out on the deck—
his head turns with the cat’s
at spring’s first frog-croak

hovering dragonfly—
carefully studying
the sleeping cat

the wren’s brave new world—
a stump stuck in the river
collecting debris

too bad! too bad! croaks
the toad to the empty-handed
mushroom picker

took to playing violin
to the stone where he spread
his mother’s ashes

two ducks winging
out of mist back into mist—
which way’s spring?

walking forward
or backward on the beach
the photo doesn’t show

what pleasure he takes
in the pleasure the bee takes
in the rosemary

what strange neighbors
you spiders in your mazes make
strung between cedars