The time is approaching quickly when my husband and I will take the first trip of the year to our forest camp. With fingers crossed we’ll ride anxiously to our happy place in the woods. Our annual jitters will be a mixture of excitement and apprehension over what we may find there as the winter weather pressures on our structures have on occasion caused some damage in the past. No doubt the quaint forest landscape will just be awakening and will be suffering from a case of ‘bed head’ from its tumultuous hibernation. Clearing fallen branches (possibly trees), restacking stonewalls, and raking rotted leaves will be our first order of business. Meanwhile the earliest ferns and wildflowers will secretly rejoice from our efforts. Only in a week or two, they’ll most certainly be greeting us in our arrivals donning their new Spring attire.
Spring sprouts nudged by warmth, Frozen earth gently softens. “Wake up and get dressed!”
Let’s write our haibun that references the heart, in whatever context that you conceive. For those new to haibun, the form consists of one to a few paragraphs of prose—usually written in the present tense—that evoke an experience and are often non-fictional/autobiographical. They may be preceded or followed by one or more haiku—nature-based, using a seasonal image—that complement without directly repeating what the prose stated.
When animals hibernate in the winter, their hearts slow to a barest minimum for sustaining life. I often imagine frogs at the bottom of a pond or chipmunks in channels below the ground living life as a faint whisper one soft infrequent heartbeat at a time. In those long pauses is a mysterious hushed eternity that leads to an electrical instant of reclaiming life. Almost dead…ALIVE…almost dead...ALIVE…
Some say winter is a time of silence, of nothingness. That couldn’t be further from the truth. Can you hear it? Winter is a thrumming pause when Mother Nature’s life-pulse is the loudest to those persevering toward the Spring.
“Hush now” winter wind, Hasten life to fill the void. Her whispered rhythm.
As a poetry form, this consists of eight three-line stanzas in a syllable pattern of 8/8/2. This poetry type has no rhyme and is written in the first person with a twist. The twist is to be revealed within the last two stanzas.
An icy wind blows ferocious As the sun interrupts its grasp, Winning. A setback but not a retreat As winter poises to remain In charge. Timeless struggle where seasons grate, Dynamic cyclical efforts For naught. Sealed fates in time resist moving. An inertia enforced morphing of Truth. Foolish and headstrong is winter. Tenacious and patient, the Spring steals ground. Inevitable transforming Inches forward righteously calm. Serene. The sun gets involved and its settled. No debate allowed anymore, It’s done. Nature’s resolve is unyielding. Spring has sprung in spite of the wind. Hurrah!
Since so many other online writers have blogs dedicated to their writings, I’ve decided to jump onto the bandwagon. All posts published here will be either fiction or poetry, some new, and some previously published on various places on the Internet. Some of my works are conventional, and some are quirky. All fiction posted here, except for fan fiction, will include the letters "rose" somewhere, as a tribute to my Baba.