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 silenceof a white lily
Frogpond, summer 2011
4 comments:
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?
Thank you, Janet, for your generous praise. The success of this piece is really due to the success of my husband's braiding technique.
Adelaide
this guy knows his stuff; great haibun
much love...
Thanks Gillena,
I'm letting my hair grow again, and when it is long enough my husband will have his job back.
Adelaide
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