Vultures circle low,
seeking Winter’s thawed corpses;
birds return in Spring.
One of my favorite science fiction writers is Eleanor Arnason; if you haven’t read her, I highly recommend the short stories The Grammarian’s Five Daughters and Knapsack Poems, and the novel Ring of Swords. Her work is smart and insightful, very much in the tradition of Ursula Le Guin.
Also smart and insightful is her occasional blog, where she writes about science fiction, politics, economics, and nature. She lives in Minneapolis, so her observations about the changing seasons are a treat for me to read; she notices things that I don’t.
Today she noticed that the vultures had returned to the skies over our rivers, and offhandedly noted that “[i]t calls for a haiku, but I can’t think of one right now.” Though I’ve noted with my recent string of juvenilia that I gave up poetry about twenty years ago, I managed to come up with a little something, which I’ve inflicted above.