Becketwood Cooperative
An Active, Independent 55+ Community of Owners in Minneapolis

Spring Awakens the Senses

by Dee Schaefer, Becketwood Member


Ants adore their plump buds in the springtime.
Their Chinese silk petals emerge flawlessly.
White, pink, burgundy, even yellow flounces weigh in.
Humbled by their beauty, they cascade
onto the brown soil.
Left behind is only a memory.


Shadows won’t stand still.
They dance and play.
they are escape artists.
They shrink and grow, expand and contract.
They are restless patterns in search of an artist.


Tune the orchestra of my senses with my mind.
Sit still to feel the warm weight of my body.
Descend from head to foot.
Ascend from foot to head.
Make a mantra of breath.
Let time disappear.

Attentive Ears

The kitchen faucet drips.
The refrigerator hums gently.
The wall clock strikes four o’clock.
Footsteps sound in the corridor.
A hand knocks at the door.
The microwave beeps.
It’s time for tea

A Perceptive Nose

Scented lavender sprigs on the bistro table.
Bergamot perfume in the black china teacup.
Dark chocolate scents robing candied ginger.
Elusive almond fragrance in thin butter cookies.
Coconut sweetness on my lotioned hand.
All enhancing the first sip and the last bite.

Touch from Top to Bottom 

A warm gold chain encircles my neck.
Soft cotton envelopes my upper body.
Tight stretch-denim clings to my legs.
Woolly socks caress my ankles.
Smooth leather encases my feet.
All natural gifts of the earth.

Seductive Taste

Mysterious umami with its savory temptations
holds my taste buds hostage.
Mushrooms, smoked fish, cheese, and soy sauce ensnare my
Shrimp, tomatoes, cabbage, spinach, and fermented veggies
are accomplices.
What to do?  Eat.


This collection of haiku was Inspired by what the writer saw looking out her second-floor window at Becketwood in spring. This Japanese poetic form composed of seventeen syllables lends itself to fleeting impressions.

Sturdy fir trees stand
waiting for birds’ nests.
Welcome back, robins.

Silvery sun sets
descending through pale spring skies.
Sleep, quiet universe.

No longer naked,
oak branches feather the sky.
Quickly, squirrels leap.

Tight, white buds emerge,
harboring peony bliss.
Ants, give them a boost!

Small bulbs show their heads.
Purple grape hyacinths bloom—
Spring’s floral vineyards.

Leave a Reply

  • Linda Kusserow June 5, 2018, 5:39 pm

    Your poetry strikes a chord. Subtle, elegant images and a gardener’s knowledge of peonies. Have you by any chance read Jon Kabat-Zinn’ Coming to Our Senses?