In my dreams, I am in Kyiv.
Between the air raid sirens, silence is unbearable, fluffy, like cotton wool. Sometimes the thunder of far-away mortar explosions and I imagine waiting, waiting while hesitant skylarks sing to our new normalcy. During times like this, the first body is shocking, now they are just distractions to the daily routines of finding scraps for food, the dead are just numbers while over my head the first shades of green buds from the branches. Soon the cherry trees have blossomed while we forgot to notice, but when finally air fills with its falling petals, I notice what’s been lost.
When all of a sudden I awake to the peace of my bedroom, I notice how cherry blossoms are just the last snowfall of winter.
no longer crying
stepping on cherry blossoms —
yet a young mother
Today Frank hosts dVerse Haibun Monday where we write about cherry blossoms. It is still very early for cherry blossoms here, tomorrow they are promising snow again.
March 28, 2022