Today we had to write a Haibun about where we live... I had to do two if I was to stay true to the theme, which proved to be a very difficult and deep-felt exercise.
The town is laden with hills. Secreted away under a vault of clouds. Sometimes the moon infiltrates them and hangs like a pendulum in the sky, counting the days. Night is black. There is an aching lack of trees. Sometimes the pavements mourn for lack of leaves, a canopy breeze. A solitary one here and there bows under the strain of its solo life. Everywhere though, the aluminum slate of the sea, the rustle of waves, the whispers of hidden days to differing grey degrees. All the while the hills roll upward like jagged teeth, behind which the horizon cowers.
Hills smother the sky
here everywhere is the same
ponder grey again.
Everywhere there are green corridors of light. Tree canopies leading the way like curtains opening on a show, tapping applause on bus windows. Possibility leafy-lined streets. Sky hangs low, big and blue and buoyant, close enough to pull down and fill your heart. Arcs of bridges span roads, for skywalking instead of jaywalking. Night is midnight blue, perfectly lit by the silver skill of the moon. Mountains stretch the horizon. Sea is a secret found, a lapping lullaby on the outer suburbs and its horizon an endless variation of blue. Different destinations at every unfurling of road. Small epiphanies gifting days. Everywhere, an exhalation, expansion, release. Seagulls woop it up overhead, sing their morning songs, sweep and swoop to ground for food. Pavements teen with people, the city, unceasing, an engine revving dreams to life.
Green eternal spring
language of begin.