dry grass expectant
Winding past oaks and cedars, one last turn of the trail brings me to a break in the trees and the beginning of a rise dressed in tall grass, dry from the winter winds that have swept across it. All is calm now, the land greeting spring’s arrival. I turn my head at the sound of rustling to see the grass moving in seemingly random lines that approach the next curve ahead of me. A wild turkey steps from the grass onto the trail, followed by another, and another, until eight of them mill about, pecking at the soil. I stand beside a cedar, watching in silence as they proceed into the grass across the trail, and I realize I have been so caught up in the moment that I haven’t even raised my camera to document the experience.
dry grass expectant
silent host teeming with life
first shoots breaking soil
This haibun is my response to Carpe Diem Weekend Meditation #23 Kamishibai, the art of story telling.
rivrvlogr 
I was walking with you, Ken, and picturing the wild turkeys! How easy is it to become so caught up in the moment that you miss a photo opportunity?! I love the line ‘first shoots breaking soil’.
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Thank you, Kim. It’s possible to have that live experience while taking photos. But then, I’ve seen things in photos that I hadn’t seen during the event. Another time, I had taken photos of turkeys at the same spot, only to realize later that there was a fox on the other side of them – something I might have seen “live” if I hadn’t been trying to focus the camera on the birds.
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I have the same sort of thing with the pheasants that visit our garden!
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Peaceful, beautiful prose. I felt I was there as I read. Reminded me of Mary Oliver prose and poetry. Thanks
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Thank you. You are very kind.
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Wow Ken what a wonderful haibun you have created. It felt like I was walking together with you. That my friend is a strong side of storytelling … that the reader experiences what the storyteller tells. Really an awesome haibun.
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Thank you very much, Kristjaan.
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Wonderful, Ken. I love “dry grass expectant.”
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Thank you, Merril. I was trying to describe a sense of anticipation.
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And you did– one full of rustles.
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Just as it should be, my friend . . .
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Thank you, Peter.
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Wonderful haibun, Ken. I could hear that grass!
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Thanks, Bob. There was turkey small talk, as well, but I couldn’t make out the words. 😉
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Never trust turkey small talk!
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lol
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Wonderful opening sentence:
“Winding past oaks and cedars, one last turn of the trail brings me to a break in the trees and the beginning of a rise dressed in tall grass, dry from the winter winds that have swept across it.”
Accompanied by the photo, you have caught the essence of early spring in the American midwest.
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Thank you!
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