In spring, solitary drivers return to Waysides, point their windshields at Lake Michigan, watch the water move and change.
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Rainfall
After a weak winter, no rain has danced on my roof yet this spring. The receding river leaves mud flats for summer’s fishing birds. Prompt: from NaHaiWriMon, 3-18-24, RainfallForm: tanka after Harryette Mullen’s Urban Tumbleweed
Poetry Class
Post-pandemic shutdown it sounds quaint, but after I retired, I tried to find face-to-face poetry-writing classes within 50 miles of my home, without success. But one day, there it was, a weekly class from The Mill writing school in Appleton, called Lyric Poetry. It didn’t matter that I had no idea what lyric poetry was….
Busy Street
vehicles on the highway passing my house waves in the ocean
Trip to Kimberly
icy highwaya stressful driveI float above the trouble