Haibun - "Blossom(ing)"

"When cherry blossoms
scatter -
no regrets"  
(Haiku by Issa)

A hush often surrounds true beauty, almost as if proclaiming perfection, it might elude the admirer.  The wise do not snip budding branches, place them in a vase, but patiently welcome morning's fragrant breeze to lift one's hair. This Easter morn, I see God in the humble tumble of blushing florets pirouetting gracefully to garden's sweet-scented ground.   Imagine these petals my sins, forgiven;  my shame, my indifference no longer a stumbling block.  My potential no longer contained; I feel as if to burst, but quietly walk away, filled with grace.

Beneath grace I blossom(ing)
florets humbly fall. 

by Margaret Bednar, March 29, 2016

This is for "dVerse Haibun Monday - #10 Hanami"

and "The Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - The Tuesday Platform"

Contemplating sin this Easter. (and of course, the forgiveness of)  As a Catholic we believe in mortal and venial sin.  Venial sin is "everyday" sin that we might allow to "pile up" - put off asking forgiveness.  But when we do this - we also become indifferent, lukewarm - so to speak - and we don't live up to our potential.   This is where my thoughts were when pondering this poem...   I wanted to through the word "patience" in as well as I believe this is one of the most important virtues - a waiting upon the Lord.  It's a humbling.  

Ocracoke

Ocracoke

Protected by sand dunes and salt marsh 

does seem a fragile thing

and with gulf stream's warming breath 

not yet delivering this early morn

I should be leary; but I don't mind 

as I wrap fuzzy shawl of silk and wool 

about my shoulders.

My son's braver; hoodie and shoes scatter 

where he flings them

in his usual zig-zag, helter-skelter fashion. 

Seems I've traded salt and snow 

for finely blowing crystals,

almost imperceptible 

until lying upon cool, moist sand

I marvel at their quiet journey 

of slowly shifting this barrier island 

of little to no bedrock.

I call my son to share, 

but my voice is swallowed by wind and surf.  

He's scampered far ahead, 

poking at shell deposits, driftwood, 

forcing gulls to abandon lucrative breakfast sites 

and ride shifting winds further down-shore. 

I abandon myself to absorbing, watching, imagining 

rangy ponies that freely roamed this coastline; 

pirates that rested (and liquored) post-pillage,

shipwrecks - of lives lost, others saved;  

heroics retold for generations.   

Ponder last night's ghost-walk 

and for once, believe every word.

My son is back, cheeks flushed, hair damp.  Shivering.  

Surrender my wrap as he leans against me, 

shows me half a sand dollar.

Come noon we'll have pail and shovel in hand; 

for now we have in mind 

Flying Melon's smoked salmon and shrimp scramble.

By Margaret Bednar, March 23, 2016

This is linked with "Poets United Midweek Motif - Climate"  

The winter beach is officially over and spring pricing is well under way.  I love the discounted rates and truly love the solitude and beauty of what the ocean has to offer during it's "off season", winter.