It's Still Life

Haibun: Blown Home

I remember the wind as grape-skin smooth as it flowed through the window. It lifted the voile panels — inhaling and exhaling time. The grandfather clock, I turned its key daily, and its oaked-box voice ticking solid and deep, geared-teeth grinding away at our eternity. That wind always came out of the west, brought shadow-blown clouds, mirror-polished against torn bits of blued sky. It was a wind so soft that red dust on the dirt road was undisturbed by it. Calm, still, and settled, except when its breath left dangling hushed words spinning in your ear. This place was home. All too late, I realised the wonders of it, and I was near green with envy for the child who grew up here. Here where yellow oxeye daisies grew in the orchard. Here in the waters of my childhood.

sunlight’s a child’s colour
the uncertain secret of flowers
yellow as salty butter

dVerse Haibun Monday, Miz Quickly’s Day 24, 
PA Day 24 Love/Anti-Love Poem © Misky 2020