Haibun Today

A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Editor
Volume 5, Number 1, March 2011

Charles D. Tarlton
Oakland, California, USA


Natural Ironies

watching Nature
for clues, listening to the wind
the children
from next door arrive
chirruping like little birds

It never fails. The morning light curls like smoke and rises from the bottom of the canyon. Here at the top it billows and spills, filling the whole sky. The day begins.

look at the sky!
the urge to break the silence
but how do you say
that odd color . . . purple
mixed with soft rose

On a straining metaphor that makes the trees dance on the hillside, I laugh into my morning coffee. A light but cool breeze comes all the way from the bay, and the limbs on the newly planted redwoods do seem a little rhythmic and coy.

they sawed down
a tall spruce next door
the smell of my dad's woodshop
oil of something . . .

Where does the day go? After a blur of tasks, errands, naps, and walks, it is evening again. The light slides back down the canyon, retreating across the bay, and toward the sea where the sun hovers above the horizon.

write a poem
about the last black bird
a darting shadow
past the darkening windows
snuffing out the sun







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