Haiku in a craftsman house

BreadFarm’s Lemon-Cherry bread, hot tea, and the fog put me in a mood I haven’t felt in awhile, so I wrote some haiku.

Red-tail hawks calling
The mountain veiled in thick fog
Rain on apple trees

A bald eagle sits
Out of place, in a dry field
On an old fence post

The cock cries often.
Their backs bloody; feathers ripped:
it should be his hens.

In a wooden house,
I should be dry, no rain enters.
Yet still the wet seeps.

Back home it blazes
But here the earth is fertile
Summer corn still grows

“An artiste”, she says.
Quickly I say “an artist”.
What were you thinking?

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