I Came Early Today

Free AI web copilot to create summaries, insights and extended knowledge, download it at here

927

Abstract

ts buried under rubble heartbreak in my livingroomWhite pines stand somber and silent, only their crowns lit by morning sun. Gray branches of beech trees still hold autumn’s gold; a rush of wind rearranges the scene, leaves fall helter skelter.november morning the way the wind changes the forestReina’s ears prick to the scurrying sounds of a red squirrel; Suddenly her attention shifts. Her nose follows a strong scent. She lopes into the wild tangle of decomposing trees and chocking briars, returning unscathed minutes later with her found prize.on the trail speckled with crimson leaves a hawk’s severed wingI’m taken aback for a moment, then gather the feathers for a closer look: delicate patterns of brown and white as if drawn by an artist’s hand; how silky they feel between my fingers. I lay the remains of a lif

Options

e on a moss-covered tree stump and whisper a simple prayer, slowly turning back toward home.closing the gate high in the canopy chatter of chickadees<blockquote id="e897">End note: this prose poem is written as a haibun, an ancient Japanese style poem first created by the famous haiku master, Matsuo Basho, who used it as a kind of journal writing for his travels around Japan. Today we are less constrained by the subject matter and haibun can be about anything as long as it is written in the first person and about personal experience. It must also include at least one haiku( not constrained to the 5–7–5 format, which can be either traditional or modern)that enhances or connects to the prose paragraphs. To read, appreciate and become inspired by some award winning haibun, please click <a href="https://www.hsa-haiku.org/haibunawards/haibun.htm">here</a>.</blockquote></article></body>

A haibun poem

Entering the gate, my dog, Reina is ready for adventure, here at the woodland at the edge of the marsh. I came early today, my thoughts heavy with the daily news of war and death. Night after night, the television broadcasts scenes of the limp, blood-and-dust-covered bodies of children, held tight in the arms of parents and strangers; they too, covered in blood and dust, faces distorted with grief, pleading for help, but the bombs keep coming and coming.

innocents buried under rubble heartbreak in my livingroom

White pines stand somber and silent, only their crowns lit by morning sun. Gray branches of beech trees still hold autumn’s gold; a rush of wind rearranges the scene, leaves fall helter skelter.

november morning the way the wind changes the forest

Reina’s ears prick to the scurrying sounds of a red squirrel; Suddenly her attention shifts. Her nose follows a strong scent. She lopes into the wild tangle of decomposing trees and chocking briars, returning unscathed minutes later with her found prize.

on the trail speckled with crimson leaves a hawk’s severed wing

I’m taken aback for a moment, then gather the feathers for a closer look: delicate patterns of brown and white as if drawn by an artist’s hand; how silky they feel between my fingers. I lay the remains of a life on a moss-covered tree stump and whisper a simple prayer, slowly turning back toward home.

closing the gate high in the canopy chatter of chickadees

End note: this prose poem is written as a haibun, an ancient Japanese style poem first created by the famous haiku master, Matsuo Basho, who used it as a kind of journal writing for his travels around Japan. Today we are less constrained by the subject matter and haibun can be about anything as long as it is written in the first person and about personal experience. It must also include at least one haiku( not constrained to the 5–7–5 format, which can be either traditional or modern)that enhances or connects to the prose paragraphs. To read, appreciate and become inspired by some award winning haibun, please click here.