Thursday, September 5, 2013


                                       THE ZEN OF BRAIDING 

My hair has grown long enough to form a single braid extending down my back.  A braid I cannot make satisfactorily.  The finished product swings to the right or to the left.  I feel unbalanced, lopsided. 

“Don’t talk.” My husband, standing behind me, gathers my hair in his hands.  His expression seen in the mirror is neutral, as if his thoughts are elsewhere.

Divide the hair into three equal shanks.  Right shank over the center.  Pull taught.  Left shank over the center.  Pull taught.  Repeat to the end. Secure with a rubber band.

He steps back and admires his work.  I turn around and look with a hand mirror.  I, too, admire his work.  Neat, tight and centered.

“The secret,” he says, is not to think about it.  To have a blank mind.”

spring dusk
pulling in the silence
of a white lily

Frogpond, summer 2011

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janetld said...

You're a haibun wiz. I got chills by the time I arrived at the last paragraph. The story of my life (including my writing): when it comes to certain things, to try a little less. To be that silent white lily?

Adelaide said...

Thank you, Janet, for your generous praise. The success of this piece is really due to the success of my husband's braiding technique.


Gillena Cox said...

this guy knows his stuff; great haibun

much love...

Adelaide said...

Thanks Gillena,

I'm letting my hair grow again, and when it is long enough my husband will have his job back.