Woodland Friends Haibun

As you read this, we are probably without power. They’ve projected outages for up to 72 hours, with the start being around 2 a.m. Friday morning. I’m posting ahead, but already the preparations for the storm here in middle Georgia are underway. Milk and bread are gone from store shelves, and folks are swapping and filling their propane tanks. I managed to find four bags of ice for our cooler so we can switch our groceries over to stay cold. The generator is here in case we take to the camper for showers from the white tank and air conditioning after the storm on what is predicted to be a hot weekend. Even our wildlife that we enjoy watching each day are taking note – they’re on the move in patterns we don’t normally see. I had picked up Fitz from the vet and was squeaking his turtle squeak toy in the garage when my husband said, “Stop and listen!” We walked out and looked up to see a whole flock of Canadian Geese honking their way east overhead.

“Did you call them?” my husband asked, gesturing to the turtle.

Wherever you are, if you’re in the storm’s path on the coast or inland, stay safe!

Photo by Magda Ehlers on Pexels.com

during these fierce storms

I worry for our critters

already stirring

they know something’s up

squirrels are gathering food

deer stick together

their whole herd crossing

our driveway together with

babies surrounded

no Weather Channel

needed in the dense forest

these animals know

update: we have power and had very little effect other than the torrential downpours of the rains in the outer bands of the storm, but my dad, brother, and son and their families are all without power now going on 48 hours and we hope they will come and stay until it returns.

Hurricane Force Truth Haibun

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

No one south of Atlanta should be on these roads today with the storm approaching. Correction: no one south of Atlanta should be on these roads with the Category 4 Hurricane heading our way. They say it’ll still be a Cat 1 clear up to Macon, then a tropical storm before Atlanta. It’s forecast to spin right through our county, right through our pine trees like the Tasmanian devil in all those cartoons. Schools are called off today and tomorrow for best safety practice, and here’s my still-ambitious husband in all his 63 years, heading out to brave the roads in his nylon raincoat, his lunchbox, and his oversized umbrella. He gave our three dogs their morning goodbye treats, and each headed to a separate chair to settle in for their morning naps as he headed down the hall to the garage and out to his truck. But not before I yelled, “Be careful out there. Be extra careful. I need you.”

This isn’t something we say. We’ve always said I love you, and have prided ourselves for all our years of marriage on not actually needing each other but making it a daily choice to want to be with the other – – not to need the other in a dependent kind of way. But this morning needed the truth, and it stopped him in his tracks.

“That’s nice to hear,” he said, closing the door behind him.

A second later, he opened it. “You really don’t, you know, but it is nice to hear.” And then he left for work. I sat sipping cold coffee and admiring the sweet slumber of our pups in their chairs, not a worry on their Schnauzery brows.

We used to believe

we were loved, not needed – but

now we know we’re both

Open Write September Day 4

Our host today at http://www.ethicalela.com for the September Open Write is Larin of Oklahoma. She inspires us to write “I Thought You Should Know” poems in any form of our choice. You can read her full prompt here, along with the poems of others.

Special thanks to Two Writing Teachers at Slice of Life

To the Craftsman in Kentucky Who Made the Secretariat

I thought you should know

this piece has been in my family

since 1966, and we won’t give it up~

it sits in the dining room by the table

here in the heat of Georgia

with a fake plant on top since I

can’t keep real ones alive

like the matriarchs did

and I only wish I could rewind

time through all its days and

relive some of the simplest

moments next to it

through the years

as hash browns fried,

cinnamon toast browned,

bacon sizzled,

teaspoons swirled in steaming mugs

and family talked

~ really talked ~

in those hours like they’d have forever

only they didn’t

and we don’t

which is why, Craftsman, your

work of art is safe with us

turning back the years

in ghostly oak

memories

When She Comes Home

we stand upstairs in

her old bedroom watching deer

graze in the forest

empty nest feelings

come rushing strong when she’s here

happy tear visits

my youngest daughter

home with her forever love ~

a new family

The Muse

folks raise eyebrows at

kids with imaginary friends

holding full conversations

in complete worlds they

never see

but oh,

that kid with the

imaginary friend?

yeah, that one’ll be

a writer, and and that’s

the muse setting the

stage for all the stories

all the poems

all the books

all these memories

this journey that

fuels the pen

Lines

it messes with my

mind and heart, these

Titanic exhibits like

the one in Atlanta,

the Immersive

Experience

(no pun intended,

I’m sure, but I’d

have chosen a

different name)

I learned about the

Titanic as a child when

an elderly couple in

our church were

on the next boat out

late for their honeymoon

on the Titanic ~

the Testers, Mr. and Mrs.,

lived because they were

late, and for all the

cussing I might have

muttered missing my boat,

I’d have learned a

thing or two about

what it means to

let things go

and move on

I can’t imagine the terror

inside the hearts on

those lifeboats

all the loved ones

watching their own

sink to their deaths

in freezing darkness

as they rowed on

I wonder if F. Scott

Fitzgerald started

at the end of Gatsby

and then went to the

beginning to start

again

so we beat on

boats against the current

borne back

ceaselessly into

the past

which is why I

began taking photos

of snippets of

lines in the exhibit

wondering what

poems might

emerge, turning the

grief back to joy

The Lunch Tickets

Photo by Steve Johnson on Pexels.com

we had a third grade

bully who kicked our

shins with her

wooden clogs

and pulled our hair

so we came up

with a plan to

steal her lunch

tickets she

bought on

Mondays for

35 cents each

and turned in for

the count each

day

she was a

child of addiction

poverty without

a mother ~ but a

grandmother

raising her

working hard

to make ends

meet for this

girl, angry at

the world

and not enough

clogs and

shins to fix it

and now

that I see life

from this side

I feel

deep sorrow

for our theft

because we

only hurt

grandma

and our

future

selves

who would

come to

know the

truth