The Heron's Nest

Editors' Choices

The Heron's Nest Award

Less is more in haiku. A few choice words, with minimal use of description or narrative. But that means maximal reliance on shared experience—for starters. Like the common activities of hiking, biking, and berry picking in this enjoyable poem. Like the beachcombing and yard-sale scenes in the other two Editor's Choice poems.

I'm always on the lookout for wild berries wherever I bike or hike in the summertime. Which takes me back to childhood, when my sisters and I would forage for ripe raspberries along the country road we lived on. Berry by berry we'd gather a harvest from small patches and rare motherloads, until our fingers were red and our containers filled. Store-bought raspberries never tasted as sweet—or as tart. And the adventure of berry hunting, while navigating the thorns, made the savoring of them, with or without cream, even sweeter.

The hiker or biker in this poem is not on the lookout for wild berries. Those show up, rather, as an unexpected aha!—which, alas, he is unequipped for. Nevertheless, he is resourceful enough to fashion a makeshift container out of a repurposed trail map. And the conical form, intended to be purely functional, winds up being fairly whimsical—perhaps even resembling a cornucopia of bountiful fruit once it's filled.

Shared experience (which includes seasonality) is only one essential aspect, however. Haiku is also highly reliant on kireji-like cutting, which splits the poem in two and invites the reader to reconcile the separate parts. Back in 1999, when The Heron's Nest was founded, and when my haiku journey began, the community wore out the word juxtaposition. Since then, other terms—like disjunction—have enlivened the discussion. Whatever we call it, this unique literary device can generate impressive resonance (another word we wore out). That is to say, something interesting, meaningful, challenging, playful, or otherwise evocative is somehow at work within the gap.

Thus, while the literal hiking scenario offers immediate sensory engagement, the berries/map interplay opens up a deeper, metaphorical level of meaning—especially given the inherent symbolism of the trail map (control, strategy) versus the berries (wildness, serendipity).

We might notice, for instance, a transformation theme: from utilitarian map to whimsical container; from structure and planning to spontaneity and surrender. But that's just one of many possible implications we could readily glean from this accomplished poem without it ever resolving into a single, obvious "message."

For ultimately, haiku is most reliant on open-ended collaboration, whereby the poet provides the conditions for discovery and each reader contributes their own experiences, perceptions, and imaginings, thereby completing the poem.

Christopher Patchel
December, 2025