It Was the Owl That Shrieked
Haibun
It Was the Owl That Shrieked
She could barely see beyond the crust of corrosion distorting her peripheral vision. Lost in thought, she always said there were nuances between tarnish and patina, and hardly worth discussing. She could shine whenever she chose to.
setting the tone drawing every line crossing her path
Someone will polish her silver soul, a warrior with well-oiled armor in summer glory. No rust would mar the skin. A sun bears down on her parasol as she watches the horizon, and then another autumn arrives, bringing dust in its amber wake.
one cloud in the clarion sky scent of petrichor
The irony of oxidation is that it protects what it hides. Rainbow hues mask her frayed edges. There’s simply too much oxygen. No fault of her own.
With her black spade, she digs a hole by the path that waits for the coming Spring, giving no thought to who might toss dirt on her heirloom grave.
Macbeth in her words Shakespeare is a hard act to follow
I'm excited to have “It Was the Owl That Shrieked” and another haibun published in The Pan Haiku Review Haibun and Tanka-Bun Edition-Winter 2024. I sincerely thank Editor Alan Summers for his guidance and the skill and effort he put into producing this fabulous edition.
I’ll post the second haibun appearing in this issue tomorrow.
A PDF download of the issue is available here.
Excellent!