Pelican Town Haibun
Summer, Day 15. My crops thrive, every leaf and vine coaxed into dancing with the breeze. The blueberries, tomatoes, and melons are teaching me grace. At dawn, the dew glistens. All day I listen to the carpenter, her hammer chants an old rhythm called “Creation.” The townspeople are dozens of fortune cookies that I crack open with words. I bring the old woman daffodils and when she smiles, I am the one who receives a gift. At night my land stirs to life with fireflies, shooting stars above. There is a fullness to this life, the steady joy of singing to flowers in the morning, fishing with my feet in the pond, harvesting fruit to share with the neighbors. How softly time trickles down from dawn to dusk, without hurry, without delay.
marking time—season’s compass