speaking of haiku

it's past ash wednesday.
comes the end of winter sleep.
february done.

november. the soul,
at rest, watches and awaits
at last, the advent

judging all, I wait.
like noah, I will be saved
come the flood. I know.

hate, smears, half-truths, lies,
fear of the wrath of rapture...
where is love?... of God?

yellow leaves, bright crisp morn,
hot mist rising from wood-chips
left by the parkway.

a humbling gray,
descends upon proud 'scrapers,
a ceiling of clouds.

today is better.
i find myself more content
with smiles of autumn.