Haibun

                           

                                 GRIMSON FRAGMENTS                                                             

Autumn falls into the river. Ochre and mustard rush past the summer towns bringing early mists and fog, stretching across fields and roads, wrapping all in its path with gifts of silence.

The season brings an early dusk, banishing the languid nights. Trailing winds, hinting of icy storms, chase away picnickers, the brass bands and swimmers at the shore. Bare branches let in the sky and the earth turns brown.

                                                fire in the hearth

                                                I choose a book from the stack

                                                by your empty chair

Drifting Sands