When I was young I was a winged maple seed, and I danced wherever the wind led me.
The wind led me to love. Its gusts were powerful, but instead of soaring I sank to the earth. My wings had been shredded; the dance ended as quickly as it had begun.
sprouting maple seed /
finds life under the gravel – /
and drinks deeply /
Today I am tall and strong. My roots are deep and they pierce the earth in their thirst. I pull all the strength I can from the depths, and I store it in the sap that flows over my heart.
My heartwood appears to be sleeping. Some say it is dead – but it is not. In my heartwood I still dream, and when the dreams become too heavy they burst through the sap and explode into poetry.
And still – each poem grows wings and flies away. If you listen on a windy day, you can hear my poems scratching on sidewalks. On rainy days they sweep into the streets and disappear into gutters. In winter they stick stubbornly to the faces of aging snowmen.
A few get angry and put down roots – but they never forget having dreamed.
an eddy of roots /
echoes the swirling dance /
of seeds on the wind //
This haibun is written in response to the Līgo Haibun Challenge, where we were to use the following Ukrainian proverbs for inspiration.
— Either dance well or start drinking.
— Only when you have eaten a cockroach do you appreciate soup.
I selected the first proverb.
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