Dearly Departed,
Thank you for the bits of cloth and strands of other realms you leave scattered through these times of in between. I often glimpse you shimmering in my mirrors, especially if the silver has corroded.
And you often catch me gliding through the living with a caution born of bruises and thin skin. The payments for my lease on life amounts to usury these days. Though it peeves me greatly, I pay the piper and the price. At least for now.
In the darker corners of this transitory dwelling there’s much I’ve stashed away: incomplete ideas, imaginings, and shame. Today, most rooms are open for some badly needed airing. Could you close the windows when you leave?
I am walking by the river with my pockets full of secrets and haikus. I think I’ll stop and read myself a few. On the north side of this long-abandoned shack, there’s shade. Let’s sit and count the syllables floating by.
Love,
Rita
Five Haikus for Fall
When you hear the owl,
with deep appreciation, bow.
Watch as fall arrives.
With reverence, weep.
Endings flutter down like leaves.
Rake them into piles.
Read the open sky
and try to understand why
we must all grow old.
Rain gently closes
those wide crack in your being
caused by summer drought.
The clay you’re made of
will soften in the downpour.
Come spring, seeds will sprout.
….. ….. ….. ….. ….. …..
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