November: a month that begins with a syllable of prohibition then slowly denies us colour and warmth. My father's brother has died at 91. This morning’s frost refuses to melt. I watch a day moon swallowed by smoky clouds; leaves shroud the bare earth beneath the apple trees.
fall
I try
not to
First published in CHO July 2017
But tonight, as if his age and health are no more than a random number, a misconception, my father's voice on the phone so clear, so bright. And the sky beyond the orchard fired by sunset. Yes. Oh yes.
I try
not to
First published in CHO July 2017
Hello,
ReplyDeleteI just happened to read your haibun. It is so clear and so very precise. Thank you for sharing
Thank you so much for your positive feedback, anna9. I really appreciate it.
DeleteBest wishes
Lynne