Stinkbugs and beetles, no shoes on their feet, crawl over silver polished ground, their own deep frozen world seeking out warm shelter. They don’t mourn the death of our flowers and crops. Our loss is their wake. “To every thing there is a season and a time to every purpose under heaven.” Eccl. 3:1
Frosty sliced apples
Under warm nutmeg syrup
A seasons blending
Haibun Monday at dVesepoetspub.com – prompt is first frost
May take A break for a while, prayers needed, thank you.
mehflowers 
From stinkbugs to warm nutmeg syrup! I love the contrast!!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you!
LikeLike
Prayers coming your way, Mary. Hope things settle down quickly for you.
That haiku did remind me that, for me, it’s lunch time. Nicely penned.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Much appreciated, thank you.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Lovely haiku. Love the spicy apples.
LikeLike
I liked this sentence: “Our loss is their wake.”
LikeLike
Prayers for you, Mary! Something is wrong with your first link…it leads to my blog editor. I’ll ask Victoria to delete it
LikeLike
Thanks for fixing. I don’t know how to delete a link once I post. Sometimes I copy it wrong.
LikeLike
This is a wonderful perspective… stinkbugs have their purpose and there is meaning for the honey
LikeLiked by 1 person