Many Conversations – A Haibun/Haiga


The woman rises early and makes her way out to the porch to wait for the light and to invite the silence in. Eyes closed, she descends the staircase to her internal spring, near her heart. Drinking just enough to sate the fierce longing, she lets go of bitterness and observes as a gusting breeze sweeps it away. She cries out when she opens her eyes.  The sun, tilting toward the south, filters its light through the trees , dappling an anemone with kisses. A bee passes by, stopping long enough to graze at the pink flower’s pollen feast. The shy little flower, in a shudder of love, suddenly showers the bee with pollen. The woman, training her eyes on the vision before her, tucks a few pieces of pink, a bit of bee and the sunlight into her heart to carry with her during the day. A moment later, she hears a sound in the kitchen.  She moves inside and finds her mate making a pot of strong morning tea. Without making a sound she becomes, for just a moment, the sunlight, the bee and the anemone.

Anemone at Sunrise ©2013 Wabi Sabi
Anemone at Sunrise ©2013 Wabi Sabi

For Carpe Diem ‘  the conversation’

For The Sunday Whirl ‘Wordle #123’

For Poets United ‘Poetry Pantry’

42 thoughts on “Many Conversations – A Haibun/Haiga

  1. She becomes all three—sunlight, bee, anemone—because she has drunk from the internal (and, I’m thinking, eternal) spring. This is lovely, Wabi.


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