Tuesday Scribes – In Marlow

A Haibun for this week’s prompt at Tuesday Scribes.

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“It’s a lovely little town, these days, but it wasn’t always so. They used to have a haunting problem. Every night, at about midnight, the High Street would fill with phantoms and spirits. They’d overrun the town till dawn, wreaking havoc, causing mayhem. Residents stayed inside, doors locked, sashes shut tight, curtains drawn. Few were brave enough to venture outdoors and those that did – usually didn’t return.

“The population dwindled till there was more spectres out at night than was good folk during the day. The village, like to’ve died. It’s coming back these days.”

There’s a churchyard that’s
by the bridge, o’er the river.
The gate’s kept locked now.

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OLWG#54- Haibun

written for OLWG#54

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The time was now. He had to go. He gathered up his few meager possessions paid his few debts and divided his land equally amongst his children. On the way, he stopped beneath the old tree to say a final goodbye to his wife, Lenore, gone these many years. He lingered to bid farewell to friends who remained and he paused to make peace with his adversaries.

With his affairs in order he turned his face to the sun and set off. In his heart he knew he would never come back.

Failure is not allowed,
they anticipate your return and,
your word is your bond.
It has been years since you were there,
it matters not; if they’ve gone.

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Ephemera

Haibun

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The gentle hum of bees fills the air. I sing to them as I slog along the fence guarding Farmer Morton’s trees. I listen, and watch them work. They are tireless. Blossoms perfume the air and each day is a little warmer, a little more fragrant than the day before. Singing is the secret. My mother never sang out here and although her honey was sweet; mine always seems sweeter. I sing with my daughter in anticipation. Where my voice is gruff and low, hers carries the timbre of a violinist; sul tasto: ephemeral, light, airy, delicate and fleeting. Her voice will blend in harmony with the sounds of the workers.

The hives are abuzz
it’s almost time to harvest.
Three frames from a hive
produces about ten pounds
that tastes, as sweet as it looks.

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This piece was selected and published by Vita Brevis – Check out this on-line literary magazine for yourself here!

The Texture of Beige

Haibun

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The smell of petroleum product permeates the cool clear air. Fluids drain from the overturned automobile to the worn surface of the track on which it lies. The driver is unnaturally silent and still. Wildlife gives a wide berth to the scene. Tonight the rains will come to scour the road; clearing the way for scavengers to do their part in the morning.

Dawn watches and crows
begin feasting as vultures
and coyote wait.