Inspired by the unprecedented response (hem hem) to my sawn-off haiku encapsulating the Noughties, I've decided to regularise the form and give it a name. It shall be called the Haikette (with grateful acknowledgment to the Sage of Tiverton, whom God preserve), and it shall consist of 13 syllables, arranged thus:
That's enough syllables for anyone. Here's an example:
Gulls on the ice.
Seared rushes fringe the lake.
My breath, smoke.
(It should be centred, rather than ranged left, but I can't work out how to do it on Blogger.)
That's a memory of yesterday, when I walked out in quest of waxwings, not really expecting to find any - and I didn't. That magical sighting from a passing train will stand alone in my memory (albeit with a butterfly relative). I did, however, get a good look at another beautiful tree sparrow, and thought of my daughter, now back in New Zealand...