by Kelly

It hasn’t snowed yet,

but it will. Soon. — We wait for

news of Henry Han.

Late last night I created a haiku and scheduled it to post this morning. Of course, as soon I went to bed, my mind started playing that poem over and over in my mind and I came up with a better version. Or what I think is a better version.

But I did’t get into the system early enough today to change it before it went live. Usually, when this happens (this isn’t the first time I’ve thought of a better version of a haiku once I posted), I go into the system and fiddle with my words within the post. By doing this, though, readers probably won’t notice what sort of revisions I’ve made, or what sort of thought process I went through. So this time, instead of just making the changes, I decided to leave the original and then create a new post for the revision in order to reveal my writing process.

I like this second version of the haiku better than the first. The second falls more in line with the idea that a haiku have a break, a switch in perspective.

And I like that even though this haiku has a change in topics that both, really, are about waiting. In the beginning, the waiting is for snow, for a change of season. In the end, the waiting is for news of a child, for news that our adoption match has been accepted and approved by the Chinese government.

Hubby and I are hoping that the snow, when it comes, will bring with it that blessed paperwork for which we are waiting. After all, according to the paperwork we got about our little guy, “Han” means winter.

by Kelly

It hasn’t snowed yet,

but it will. We’re placing bets.

Dark morning, dark night.

by Kelly

leaves scrape the pavement

I startle and look behind

but I’m all alone

by Kelly

goblins suspended

from a neighbor’s tree — my dogs

bark in protest

by Alison

my eyes open to

dust lit up by the sun -

cold and suspended

by Kelly

fallen apples

flattened by tires

bees can’t resist

by Kelly

despite Indian

summer, the tree frogs have gone –

soon, fall will go too

by Alison

85 degrees

his love feeding off of mine -

Indian summer

by Kelly

in the quiet of

my pause, a muskrat rises —

overhead, a V

by Alison

negativity

begets negativity -

bright wet October