Thursday, September 16, 2010

fishing, cucumbers, brevity

Posted by PicasaTranquility sensed by the watcher and experienced by the fisherman.

Among the  rampant leaves of the pumpkin squashes two prickly cucumbers hang from a plant clinging to  the fence. I had almost forgotten the row of ridge cucumbers which, not realizing the space-hungry nature of this particular squash I had planted between them and the fence. I take a slice from the smaller of the two cucumbers. It is cool and juicy and tastes of the country green.

Having read a few haiku just now, I think to myself:  
   Short poems are best
   For what is hardest to write
   Is too good for words.

1 comment:

The Crow said...

Perfect haiku, you.