Wind gusts

Wind gusts,

thistledown flies,

pungent earth, river-washed,

spreads among the dapples.

Wind gusts,

reeds chatter,

leaves whisper,

raising dog hackles, rolling anxious eyes.

Wind gusts,

whispers in dog ears

words I cannot hear,

threading through the thistledown drifts

and the leaf rustle.

On the wall,

blackbird listens, poised,

called by the dappled earth

where the waves lap.

Wind gusts,

I listen,

in vain.

Thistledown haiku

Silky thistledown
among nodding flower heads
scattered like spring snow.

©Superior National Forest