A Haibun: Belonging

The congested traffic of clouds has come to a standstill, fog sitting on the mountain around me. View obstructed. I must be lost. The grass and leaves on the brush imperceptibly growing greener, dripping excess saturation from their dangling tips just as salty moisture drips from clumps of coiled hair down my back and brow. Manzanita, sage brush, white thorn. White pine, juniper, aspen. They design their own poses. In their place on this Earth. Two ravens land on a rock covered in turquoise-colored lichen as the fog burns off and the sun begins to warm the humid air, yet a light breeze teases the fuzzy feathers around the neck and wings of the birds. I look down at my feet in the dirt, my place on this Earth. Trails are a distraction.

Two pinecones land on

a ridge. Grow old together.

Trees sharing the view.


White Aspen contort

as the hillside shifts. Always

reaching for the sky.