by Dawn Jutton
Breath mingling with morning mist we drift through
weather pitted and unknown memorials, outlived by
their faded plastic tributes. Unconcerned with decoding
Stafford’s past, the dog drives us on through silver guiding
gates, his excitement tapped in a random rhythm on the
thin ice. White stalks of spent rushes pierce the skyline and
point to a trail of labouring wings and frantic calls slicing
the frozen air. The black geese, gathered on green-grassed
mounds, survey potential bankside building sites and warily
track our progress through their solitude.
Under exposed thin white skin –
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This piece is the first of a series of four haibun, a traditional Japanese form of poem combining a short piece of prose and a haiku into a uniform whole.