Day 7 -- #HaikuChallenge26

January 7, 2026 Pamela Ressler

timeline for sourdough

patience, patience, more patience —

kitchen alchemy

Day 6 -- #HaikuChallenge26

January 6, 2026 Pamela Ressler

breakfast visitor

commanding an audience

amidst the birdseed

Day 5 -- #HaikuChallenge26

January 5, 2026 Pamela Ressler

packing up Christmas —

years and years of memories

in a cardboard box

Day 4 -- #HaikuChallenge26

January 4, 2026 Pamela Ressler

arctic blast outside

inside summer oasis

juxtaposition

Day 3 -- #HaikuChallenge26

January 3, 2026 Pamela Ressler

hues of a campfire

wrap me in comfort and warmth —

winter wind howls

Day 2 -- #HaikuChallenge26

January 2, 2026 Pamela Ressler

soft pillows of snow

protect us from hard edges —

the landscape whispers

Day 1 -- #HaikuChallenge26

January 1, 2026 Pamela Ressler

stardust and moonbeams

help to welcome a new year —

anticipation

Notice, Write, Release...#HaikuChallenge26 Begins on January 1

December 30, 2025 Pamela Ressler

January arrives softly, asking less of us than we imagine.

After the noise of the holidays and the weight of expectation that often shadows a new year, many of us find ourselves craving something simpler—something that steadies rather than demands. Enter #HaikuChallenge26: a quiet, collective practice of writing one haiku a day throughout January.

At first glance, it looks like a creative exercise. In practice, it becomes a form of mindfulness—brief, accessible, and surprisingly grounding.

Haiku slows us down just enough to notice. The pale light of a winter morning. The hush between breaths. The sound of heat clicking on. In a season that often urges reinvention and resolve, haiku invites presence instead. It reminds us that the New Year doesn’t need to be conquered; it can be witnessed.

From a stress-regulation perspective, this matters. Attention shapes the nervous system. When we pause to observe without judgment, we send subtle signals of safety. A daily haiku becomes a small ritual of regulation—a moment to land in the body and senses before moving on with the day.

What makes #HaikuChallenge26 especially supportive is its rhythm. One poem is fleeting. Thirty-one days of noticing begins to reorient how we move through time. We start to see January not as something to endure, but as something textured and alive. Ordinary moments gain contour. Quiet becomes companionable.

There is also relief in haiku’s restraint. No long reflections. No fixing. No pressure to explain. Just a few lines that say: this is what I noticed today. In that simplicity, many people find permission to begin again—each morning, each poem, each breath.

For anyone carrying stress, uncertainty, or a tender start to the year, a January haiku-a-day practice can serve as an anchor. Five minutes. A handful of words. A place to rest attention before the day unfolds.

As the year opens, #HaikuChallenge26 offers a gentle alternative to resolution-making. Notice. Write. Release. Let January meet you exactly where you are—one quiet moment, one small poem at a time.