A Quarterly Journal of Contemporary English Language Haibun
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Archive: American Haibun & Haiga Volume 3

[Return to Author List, Vol 3 ]

Cor van den Heuvel



It has been raining all day. I’ve been trying for a ride now for about two hours, walking with my backpack since my last ride dropped me off at a country crossroads six or seven miles back. Resting on the wooden post of a guard rail, I gaze into the dripping woods from under my small black umbrella. The young leaves glitter among the boles and limbs of the trees, which shine darkly in their wet-coated bark. An eighteen wheeler whirls by, clouds of spray spinning from its wheels. The wind from its passing ripples a puddle by the side of the road. As the truck disappears around a far bend in the road, the puddle is quiet again. It is in a slight depression of the sandy-dirt shoulder of the road, between the black pavement and the grass and weeds at the edge of the woods. It’s just a little further on from the last post of the guard rail, on which I’m sitting. The guard rail is here because of a brook that goes under the road and through the woods. In the puddle now are only the rippling circles from the raindrops falling in a slow drizzle. One raindrop startles a bubble into existence on the puddle. It floats a little way across the surface for a moment then vanishes. I shoulder my pack and continue on, walking on the soft shoulder of the road in my sneakers. The earth gently accepts each step and then gently lets it go.

After a few more miles it grows dark. I keep walking. The intermittant traffic becomes even more scarce. There are no houses or lights on the road. I am coming to an unlit intersection.

distant truck
the beads of glass light up
on the STOP sign

[Return to Author List, Vol 3 ]


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