It might be dead, that tree, but we’ll not know until spring, but for now it’s full of winter-hungry chirping birds, and they’ve seen a baby snail climbing the finger of a twisted brittle twig. And that tree is a piccolo trill of celebration as that baby snail becomes a fait accompli.
The air’s scented fresh
Potted mint froze overnight
Winter’s for sleeping
Written for dVerse Poets “Haibun Monday” celebrations. Photo by Bekir Dönmez on Unsplash. ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting #apoemaday on Twitter
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