Haiku 16683

Haiku 16683
You must be busy,
Haven’t heard your voice today,
Your phone must be broke
~ Eugenio Saenz Jr.


Haiku 16682

Haiku 16682
We streamed through valleys,
Together, a wild river,
And forged our own paths
~ Eugenio Saenz Jr.

Happy Thanksgiving 

There are many days to be thankful, but Thanksgiving is set aside especially for that purpose. To give recognition to those closest to us and those we still do not know.

To give thanks to God for always being there for us, watching over, guiding, and giving us the light we need in life to see in its absence.

We give thanks, remembrance, and peace to those who’ve come and gone in our lives. They will never be forgotten. We hold them in our hearts keeping their presence.

We give thanks for the wisdom we need to tread gently over sand and stone, that we may feel each one, and pass on experiences, good and bad, so it may help others in their journey.

We give thanks for our children, for their beauty, inside and out, may they have a life filled with wonders. That they may be safe and find happiness and love in all they do.

We ask that soldiers unable to be with their families, have peace. We ask for those suffering around the world to open their hearts so they may see past their pain, and breathe life.

We offer thanks for the food that lies before us, this body of Earth we live on and the people, from farm to table, that have provided us with a moment to come together.

~ Eugenio Saenz Jr.


I was interrupted while writing in my journal when the power cut off. A loud pop came from around the corner. I saw the power lines shake and swing on poles bordering my yard. The sun hid between the branches. I lit a few candles. People started walking outside. A man walking his black pug I’d never seen before, neighborhood chattering, and kids voices of laughter filled the empty streets.
My neighbors started playing salsa music in their cars for entertainment. A party was inevitable. Traffic was getting detoured into the neighborhood; first, a few cars, then a couple of speeding trucks, a dozen more cars, and I even watched long enough to see a city bus. I thought maybe somebody hit one of the powerline polls. As it turns out, a tree had cracked and fallen on powerline cables around the corner.
I looked through the window, and out between the bars of my front gate of the cold night. A man I believe a dad was pushing a little go-cart with his son, couldn’t have been more than five years of age, seated inside, his daughter holding his hand. I sat quietly with my pencil, flashlight and a jar filled with lights resembling fireflies.