Big flakes fall all day, cover everything. A child born this hour will know nothing different. But we know what lies beneath–the thin green fingers of irises, scarred wood from the season’s last bonfire. Conversations buried like bulbs, silent until spring when the words bloom again. And other things–things we’ve been blind about, like gopher holes that keep catching our feet. We want to burrow beneath the snow’s heaviness–but we know too much of what we don’t know.
snowy branch
old skin
on my bones
The haiku snowy branch was published in Modern Haiku back in 2021. It now exists as part of this haibun.
Samuel T Franklin 