Marg isn't really a writer but she did write some ace haikus on our vacation in 2002 which must be included here lest they be shuffled into some dark corner never to see the light of day again. Marg works for her paramour, Don, as a bookkeeper/office manager; bakes amazing wedding cakes in more than one country; and loves curling, Gone With The Wind, dogs - and of course cats. Marg and I also go back to the '60's. Sharing happy hour white rum and cokes at Pine Lake in the early '70's sealed the friendship.

On our vacation to the west coast in May 2002, I told her we were going to compose haiku. She humoured me and we came up with the following collection - an "M" signifies Marg's haiku and "J" signifies mine.

J:

Rocks, weeds and brown grass
Spruce tree high on cliff looks down
As we pass below.

M:

Wheels turning madly
Seeking their destination
Ribbon highway winds.

J:

Hazy mountains wait
The ribbon winds through orchards
Takes us further west.

Tacky wooden shacks
Their front yards are the highway
Vine ripe tomatoes.

Clouds on the mountain
Soon they will be vaporized
By the warm sunshine.

M:

Birds singing welcome
Cars rapidly pass us by
Mind in solitude.

J:

Smoky ocean waits
Mountains on horizon soft
As satin on silk.

M:

Misty blue mounds call
as we gaze out to the sea.
Anxious journey ends.

J:

Breeze from the water
Ruffles my hair as I gaze
Out to the lighthouse.

White ferry on waves
we see you from our sundeck.
Gracefully you glide.

The east wind blows here
blows the scent of salt and sea
into the garden.

M:

Paralyzed with peace
we sit soaking up the sun.
Will we ever move?

J:

How can we leave this?
Paradise is not this good
sitting by the strait.

M:

How can we leave? But
another island awaits.
Curiosity.

J:

Towering spruce trees
fresh green at the tips of boughs
look out on the water.

Now it’s almost time.
Fragrant ocean scent will fade
soon to memory.

Seduced by the sea
we have forgotten yoga
walks and lettuce too.

M:

Good intentions gone
Dine on fish, chips and chocolate
Have we lost some weight?

J:

One small ant scurries
on the hot wooden sundeck.
I want to be him.

I want to stay here
where the purple mountains lie
over the water.

When we find a tree
we will see if it has leaves
east of the Rockies.

No snow, pale green leaves.
Alberta waits for summer
as we push on home.

Marg will not haiku.
She needs more inspiration.
None to be found here.

Grim snow in the ditch.
We long for the blue ocean
that we once called home.

Cattle in green fields
Windmills tower in farmyards
Big blue sky country.

We miss the calm sea
and the barks of sea lions.
When will we return?

We miss the mountains
We miss their snowy white peaks
Foothills roll away.

Marg will not haiku.
She says “back to bookkeeping.”
I must write write write.

Poetry is life.
Gentle words on silent air
refresh my spirit.

Somebody stop me!
Where’s haikus anonymous?
I am very sick!

Marg Elliott and Joyce Middlestead
Copyright © 2002