.WAFL (l()|K o(Ç!kntry(7o5FHey=< o(Ç!kurl Dhttp://www.poetrylives.com/SimplyHaiku/SHv3n1/haibun/Mary_King.htmlmime text/htmlhntt"9b4050-1113-41c0f610"hvrsdata Simply Haiku: An E-Journal - Haibun

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Spring 2005, vol 3 no 1

Haibun ~ Mary King


In New England, the seasons can turn overnight. On this day, the touch of fall chill in the air quickens the steps of those on their way to work. As I walk down the crowded city street, I see a small brown and yellow finch on the sidewalk. He doesn't seem to be able to fly and I'm certain he will soon be stepped on by someone passing by. It's quite easy to catch him and pick him up--he is so small that he fits into my cupped hand with room to spare.

this small life
the beating of its heart
against my palm

Not knowing what to do, and with finch still in hand, I begin to walk. The finch is silent; he doesn't move at all and he closes his eyes the way birds do when they're frightened. After two or three blocks, however, he begins to stir just a little as though he is just becoming aware of his surroundings. I stop at the corner and loosen my hold slightly, and when I do, he finds his escape and flies, flies up to the awning of a tall office building.

morning-weary crowds
bird song

People standing close by me have seen him fly from my hand. They look at me and smile as though they think I've performed a wonderful magic trick and hope I'll do another. We watch as the finch, whom I've named Atticus, leaves his perch on the building and flies, strong and sure now, to the little park across the street and vanishes into green leaves.

summer bird
what will you do
when winter comes

Mary King lives in Massachusetts. She has been writing short fiction for years. She has had haiku published in The Heron's Nest and Temps Libres.

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