Losing my zen when I complain of rain. Atonement: A haiku for my grandmother who said I would be a teacher, but never saw me become one. I miss her homemade bread, soup, and pasta and the way she laughed. And, really, she’s one of the reasons that I have very little to complain about. My haiku:
A mind of summer
chills the first wintertime soup–
ashes in my mouth.
McClurg's Marginalia 