It's Still Life

The sun has found me, its warmth strikes my face. I half expect God to say, “Lift up your face,” but all I hear is bird song. And it’s enough.

This is my daily walk. Footpaths. Encroaching brambles. Shoe laces that won’t stay tied; it’s a gradual undoing. I’m undone by a newfound appreciation for sensible shoes.

“Morning,” I nod to a man who just walked by – his head’s round and brown as a sweet onion. He turns right and crosses the footbridge. I change my mind, and continue on past the doggie pooper-bin that’s overflowing.

Being lost is not without direction. Or merit. Spontaneity keeps you on your toes. Some days I intentionally lose myself. It’s not as easy as it sounds.

A river used to flow under that footbridge. It dried up one Covid-summer while nobody was watching. It’s still dry, relieved of its burden to follow direction. One day it’ll return: spontaneity.

I just caught a glimpse of the onion again. I must say, I’m very fond of onions.

Green speeds through the trees
Never sees the open sky
Be still, and hear bird song

Poetic form: a haibun. Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI, and is identified as such in the ALT text or captioned. Imagery and poems ©Misky 2023.