Standing at the Trailhead of Winter

Yesterday, I had an incredible day. At one point, while I was on my way home from town after going to get a few houseplants to add to the small assembly I already have, I wondered if . . . in a month, a year, five years, ten years . . . I would remember what an incredible day I had. There are moments, and it seems like these moments are happening far more often these days, that I wish I could remember far more from my childhood, my teens, my 20's, 30's, 40's.  I want to remember. Yesterday: Saturday, October 8, 2022 early morning walk with Murphy, frost on the grass a neighbor asking where my German shepherd is and having to tell him I had to say goodbye to my beautiful boy the sadness finding me again as I thought about Ado a roaring fire in the new fireplace feet toasty warm in front of the fireplace as I graded papers sitting in the Adirondack chair and drinking a steaming cup of coffee, looking out over the back field the drive to town, the tree leaves changing colors, ...

So I'm still waiting for a critique on my haiku. Three days. The contest closes May 31st, so several weeks remain for someone to take pity on me and offer up some feedback. I wonder what will happen if my haiku go the rest of the month without being critiqued. All it says in the rules is the entry must be submitted publicly for the duration of the contest. It doesn't say the submission must receive critiques. Honestly, though, I really don't know why of the 25 different entries, mine is the only one without any critique or comment. The snarky side of me is saying, they're just that good! What could possibly be said about them to make them better than they already are? The paranoid critic side of me is saying, they're so bad no one wants to be the first one to say so.  This has been the back and forth in my head for the last three days, and this exchange has been particularly bad today. I finally copied off the haiku and gave them to a poet friend to read and giv...