Maybe it’s because I’m bored with my usual walking route. Maybe it’s the dulling effect of tree pollen on my brain. Maybe it’s because it’s National Poetry Month? Whatever the reason, this Wednesday I impulsively challenged myself to observe and remember five things during my 2.5 mile morning neighborhood trek. This collection of words molded itself into a haiku by the time I got home:


Random thoughts while walking:

Mulch, Grace, deadhead, feed, toes.

Grace the person, not the prayer.


You’re not following the traditional 5 syllable, 7 syllable, 5 syllable format.


Our freshman year student teacher didn’t, either, Lily. Remember Miss Krees? We wrote this for her class:


Castle on the hill

Goldstone greyed with age

Cries out for company.


5, 5, 6?


Correct, 9. We were writing about a place in Port Townsend, Manresa Castle. It started as the 30-room home of the prominent Eisenbeis family, built in 1892. Locals referred to it as the Eisenbeis Castle. It was purchased in 1927 by Jesuit priests as a training college, and named Manresa Hall. Manresa Castle is a mash-up of the two names. It’s been a hotel and restaurant for decades now.

And you can see it from the lower field of the junior high.


That’s probably what inspired us, Lily. Plus, we were still into Narnia at that time so castles in general were on our radar.


That one makes sense, but what about the poem you wrote this week? I don’t get it.


The mulch was to remind me how good the new layer of mulch looks at the neighbors’ place across the street. Our hydrangea bed out front really needs a refresh:


Poetry not: this bed needs mulch!



Grace- –


The person, not the prayer?


Catchy, isn’t it? Grace is the tap dancing teacher who lives on the neighborhood walking route. Adult tap was suspended at the first of the year and I keep meaning to check in with her to see if there’s any plan to start it up again.


Tapping out poetry in rhythm!


Deadhead and feed have to do with the garden. The daffodils and tulips at our house have faded and seeing ones like that in other people’s yards reminded me I should deadhead them. Feed refers to the azalea. It’s starting to bloom, so I need to feed it some acidifying nutrients.


Poetry in bloom!


Toes, though? Sounds gross.


I’m not feeding them anything, 9, if that’s what concerns you. Feeling them pressed together in my trail shoes reminded me it’s been a while since I used the toe separators to improve their strength and flexibility:


Poetry in. . .okay, this one stumps me. . .


Bet they like that after wearing those tap shoes, too.


Bet you’re right.


Is poetry composed while walking “poetry in motion”?


Humor her.


Let’s say it is. And let’s say, if you’re reading this blog, I challenge you to write a poem of any kind before the end of National Poetry Month!

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