This weekend we worked in the garden burning the branches that had been building over the past few years. A rare sunshine glanced through the trees and a scent of smoke stuck to my clothes and my hair. A neighbor passed and asked us if we believed it was spring, and I realized that I had almost felt happy. Today I started working again, and of course it was hangover cloudy again, and the sun had settled below the horizon at three. January is the longest of months, slow and dreary as the oxen pulling the plow, but it ends with my birthday.
silence of crows
reminds me of winter —
a layer of ice
Kim asks us to write a haibun from the Perspective of January at dVerse…. after the weekends, we settle into workdays with wallets much thinner… in darkness and dread.
January 7, 2018