yellow blooms
dot the hillside
above the town
a stand of palms
tall and spindly –
heads move together
the mountain
is truncated, smoothed
by swathing cloud
white truck
blocks the lane –
car wriggles past
red sign
juts from a spread
of pale grey roofs
March afternoon –
clouds fill the sky
curls of grey
the church roof
rises in a point
aimed at the sky
a small mend
in the wire mesh
focuses my gaze
Some friends asked me, 'Teach us to write haiku.' As a start, I told them to write three-line observations of what they saw around us – plain descriptions, in present tense. 'These are not haiku,' I explained, 'but will put you into the mind-set of haiku.' I wrote with them, and later realised that what I had produced was (of course!) a series of small stones.
