Emptying Haibun
Waiting, I open myself but nothing enters. Even music’s comfort avoids me, preferring calmer ports or perhaps another’s wind choices. I drop the weighted cord through the flute, pull it, and watch the cloth ease out. Some days pain drags behind me no matter what words emerge, what phrases follow. Last night brought the season’s first fireflies. This wall of books grows taller each day.
exhaling, I note
smudges in the sky —
oh, dirty window
Great display of writing here.
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Thanks very much.
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You are welcome.
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Spare writing with closely observed touches
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Thanks, Derrick. The little things frame my days.
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Yes
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Pain dragging along uninvited would sorta smudge up one’s view. Hope, though, in the flicker of fireflies. Intriguing mix of downs and ups in this.
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One gets accustomed to certain pains, although flare-ups can wreak havoc on routine. But fireflies!
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I love the seamless transition from prose to poem. I have never read a haibun quite like this.
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Thanks, Craig. I hope that’s a good thing. 🙂
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Very good!!!
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🙂
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“exhaling, I note”
I love how that plays to both the title and the flute in your prose.
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Thanks, Ken. I don’t recall it being intentional, but it works!
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