7/25. I hope you don’t mind the reshare as I was originally late for the “window” dVerse prompt. I’ve edited it down a couple of paragraphs, but it’s a paragraph and a line still too long. I won’t be offended if you choose not to read for that reason alone. Thanks. SD
7/20. I am three hours too late (my theme this week) to participate in the dVerse collection, but the haibun is written. So here it is.
A Window to World, A Haibun
Hummingbird appliques cling to window panes on the French door to discourage deadly flights. I saved a junco whose wing was damaged, grieved over the broken body of the lady cardinal, and petted the catbird twice until he flew away to live and prayed he lived.
Today a neighbor sprayed pesticide on their yard; for mosquitoes, the truck said, because pesticide differentiates between insects. Three houses away the fumes reached Scout and me as we moved through liquid heat. He pulled me toward home, his nose far more perceptive to injuries being done.
At the beach a talkative young man with a cylinder on his back sprayed for insects. “Renters hate spiders.” Too late I asked him not to spray near the pilings where a starling created her nest. I flung multigrain bread to the hardworking mother. Her flights frequent, even in cool windy rain, such a good mother. And then there was just one flight, days later, toward late afternoon with the sun sloping downward, and a single squawk registering anguish in the part of my brain where heartbreak is understood. No further chirping rose from her nest.
I look out my windows at a world I cannot protect, feel my heart chipped by what I cannot control.
On the deck railing
Mother finch teaches seed craft.
Summer breezes dance.