Haibun Today

A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Editor
Volume 5, Number 4, December 2011

Marcyn Del Clements
Claremont, California, USA


The Salt and the Sea

This morning at Red Hill Marina, the raven greets us, flying from her nest over the cave. We eat our breakfast rolls as the sun tinges the incoming waves. The boat launch trough has silted in at the mouth.

You say the peeps look like insects. They do, they resemble beetle masses at the water's edge. Each day, the bay creeps further away.

On one side of the road coming in, the black-bellied plover is mirrored in his shallow silhouette, on the other side of the road, there is nothing left but salt.

In the 80's we all gathered at this very spot, with scopes, to see the least bittern. But now the dead marsh reeds tip at a crazy angle, break off and skitter away in the wind. How could we know in thirty years, the Sea would dry up, the birds and our teacher be gone, the stories lost, cell by silent cell?

Late in the day, as we are leaving, the dowitchers turn to flame in the falling sun.

at last light
nighthawks chase each other
around the red buttes


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