It's Still Life

It’s spring. The leaves are green lisping tongues, and the faint sun stays low as a lost soul. It sings rather than shines. But that’s March, that in-between month, when winter lingers and spring seems too reluctant. I long for air, and walk amongst finger branches and spreading green that reveal truths hidden from my infant heart. Green is a lustre, and it clears the way.

in solemn silence
the moon’s bright waxing horn spills
light from pole to pole.

written for dVerse’s Haibun Monday prompt.