Monday, March 30, 2020

The Beckoning

A July moon softly glows through my window-screen, barricaded, unlike the night's breeze that cools my skin from the day's humidity and shapes the draperies into ghost-like apparitions.  Beyond the sill, Willow beckons me with her long, pliant branches and dangling, whispering leaves tinkling like gentle wind chimes.  I tiptoe down hallway, past my parent's room.   Find me beneath Milky Way, Dippers, and North Star, face upturned.  Feel a bit dizzy with the immensity of it all.  I run, steal myself beneath Willow's feathery strands, the tickling about my shoulders and neck a sensation comforting me as I listen to the cicadas and toads (both of which I am afraid) hopefully chirping far off in bush and field and not here beneath umbrella'd security.  Silhouetted, an owl hoots from my old tree fort, its large stout limb juts out into the field and I imagine the owl feels as adventurous as I do midday imagining I'm a cowboy or Indian; whichever takes my fancy.  I wonder, does the owl ever dream of being something other than he is?  I tiptoe towards split rail fence for a better view, climb up and lean over just as a flash of shadow and whir of wings sends my heart a-flutter; sends me scampering back inside.  Screen door slams, my backside hits pillow and mattress as Mother calls my name and Father gets out of bed as the July moon softly glows through my window-screen.

Moonlit shadows glide
Caution is thrown to the wind
Young rabbits tempt fate

by Margaret Bednar, March 30, 2020

This is linked with "dVerse Poets, Haibun Monday - Snapshots of our Lives"

Take an old autobiographical poem and rework it into a haibun.  HERE is the one I used.

The Dance

The Dance

Dusk is put to bed
with raven's wings soaring above,
pulling night's curtain
toward the northern star.

My Victoria roses
no longer hold court,
no songbirds serenade,

but I hear quiet yelp of fox
playing beneath vineyard and vine,
flashes of red, moonlit.

It's a beauty that rivals
the sunflowers and blue iris
sprinkled within field midday
when my breath will catch,

but now I'm caught up
in the wildness, 
heart fluttering, skipping,
wishing I could join the dance.

by Margaret Bednar, January 16, 2012

This is linked to "The Sunday Muse #90"

also linked with Poets and Storytellers United - Writers' Pantry #13

My 12 year old son wrote to this image as well:  HERE