Haibun ~ Mary
King
Autumn
In New England, the seasons can turn overnight. On this day, the touch of
fall chill in the air quickens the steps of those on their way to work. As
I walk down the crowded city street, I see a small brown and yellow finch
on the sidewalk. He doesn't seem to be able to fly and I'm certain he will
soon be stepped on by someone passing by. It's quite easy to catch him and
pick him up--he is so small that he fits into my cupped hand with room to
spare.
this small life
the beating of its heart
against my palm
Not knowing what to do, and with finch still in hand, I begin to walk.
The finch is silent; he doesn't move at all and he closes his eyes the way
birds
do when they're frightened. After two or three blocks, however, he begins
to stir just a little as though he is just becoming aware of his surroundings.
I stop at the corner and loosen my hold slightly, and when I do, he finds
his escape and flies, flies up to the awning of a tall office building.
morning-weary crowds
suddenly
bird song
People standing close by me have seen him fly from my hand. They look
at me and smile as though they think I've performed a wonderful magic trick
and hope I'll do another. We watch as the finch, whom I've named Atticus,
leaves his perch on the building and flies, strong and sure now, to the
little
park across the street and vanishes into green leaves.
summer bird
what will you do
when winter comes
Mary King lives in
Massachusetts. She has been writing short fiction for years. She has had
haiku published in The Heron's Nest and Temps Libres.
Copyright
2005: Simply Haiku |
