Haiku

Without our knowing
it guides us through dark and love ––
the light of wisdom.
–Barbara Hummel-Ludwig 

Barbara Hummel-Ludwig is a retired nurse who lives in Anderson Township, Ohio. 

Saw the tail first,
thought it was a squirrel
until
on the opposite branch
strode a young raccoon ––
babies venturing out
as if called forth
by the safety of prayer.

My dog Rosie barked,
not at the young ones
whom she hadn’t noticed,
but at a delivery truck
out on the street.

The raccoons took notice,
retreated
to the hollow slit further up
where no doubt
they were born.

I went on
with my prayer,
adding that young ones
everywhere
have a safe place
while a big dog
keeps danger away.
– Barbara Lyghtel Rohrer

* Normally, I would not use this space for my own work, but the circumstances seemed to merit this exception. I have been struggling of late, which I will share with readers next month. A friend called to check on me.

“I was crying earlier, when I need to be putting away my outdoor furniture. Workers are coming in a little bit to clean my deck. So, what am I doing? I am sitting here writing a poem,” I said.

“That sounds about right,” said my friend.

When we are overwhelmed or hurt, we all could do well to sit and write a poem.