I walk into the verdant woods alone
my boots are drums and breeze in leaves the strings
a sudden bird-song interrupts; a flute
to hail the morning sun in open glades.
I stroll without a goal, just led by chance
at every cross-road left or right, I turn
or stray and let my feet decide, no thoughts
of purpose, duty or intent disturb
I only hear my boots, the wind and birds
until I’m home again, relieved, reborn.
up and down the trunk
two edgy squirrels running —
lacking a reason
Today we are writing an iambic pentameter at dVerse with Ingrid trying to emphasize the walking rhythm and the beats we feel in words. I wrote a small piece of blank verse (no rhymes), and complemented with a haiku to really make this into a blank-verse haibun. Spring will come.
February 8, 2022