The Heart of a Garden Haibun

Used with permission of Sally – My Beautiful Things

I always leave part of my heart in my garden as the yellow leaves drift slowly down, followed by the snow. My summer heart hibernates there, with the bulbs and the frogs, below the frost line. I don’t have the heart to clear all the leaves away, it’s too like wiping the tears of the tree.

I prefer to leave them where they fall in the flower beds, fertilizer and insulation against the winter’s fury. On the grass, I rake them all into a big pile, and let the kids jump in. We toss up the leaves in fistfuls, and they fall in our hair. We make leaf angels, before we bag them all.

My summer heart is there still in my garden, slumbering, under the snow forts, the snowmen and beyond the snow angel farms. Wrapped closely with leaves, dreaming of sunshine and warm days.

first green shoots
split the soil apart
my heart leaps out

Inspired by the Tuesday Haibun Thinking: Week 3.

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

February 5, 2014

Posted under

Holiday, Poetry

Comments

53 Comments

Ode to a Snowday

Oh the excitement! A storm is coming,
Weather forecasters are so seldom wrong,
Rumors are flying, and nerves are humming.
Even teachers smile at the hopeful throng.

Internet weather searches are many
The night before a major storm comes through.
A young child’s face shines like a new penny.
Even parents hope, at least one or two.

The first flakes fall unnoticed in the dark,
Stars hidden by clouds, snowflake stars falling,
Lightly, but thickly, on tree, road and park.
Schools are closed only after some stalling.

Parents and kids sleep in past the gray dawn.
Parents sleep longest, quiet kids watch cartoons.
Mom comes down to breakfast with a yawn,
Dad flips pancakes. Kids eat peaches with spoons.

Weather is perfect, just below freezing.
Snow is heavy, wet, perfect for packing.
We play outside all day without sneezing.
Children roll giant snowballs for stacking.

Seedpods make spiky eyes and twigs form arms,
Meanwhile, two boys sling snowballs from sled forts,
Pink-covered smallest makes snow angels farms,
And we sled until we’re soaked to the shorts.

Dry clothes and cocoa with marshmallows untold,
Help finish shoveling, board games to play,
As the plows finally clear our back road.
Oak leaves dangle forlornly with snow’s weight.

Tired children fall into their warm beds.
Coats drip dry by radiators, thumping,
Parents mop up water and shake their heads,
Pray for sunshine before tired slumping.

Inspired by Painttheworldwithwords weekly poetry prompt, and her helpful post defining an ode, with links to, among other great odes, Keats’ Ode to a Grecian Urn, Shelley’s Ode to the West Wind, and Creeley’s America.