Haibun
The Bay is the Bay. On a hot windless day I sit under a pine, breathe deep, and look out. Between my flesh and the top of the tree there’s circulation.
An elegant old
egret moves through the heat waves
and its reflections.
Haibun
The Bay is the Bay. On a hot windless day I sit under a pine, breathe deep, and look out. Between my flesh and the top of the tree there’s circulation.
An elegant old
egret moves through the heat waves
and its reflections.