A Quarterly Journal of Contemporary English Language Haibun
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June 2007, vol 3 no 2

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Mary Mageau

My Enchanted Garden

When I wake up the morning the sun shines straight through my window. Everything is bathed in liquid gold. But today my room glows with a very different light. I jump out of my warm bed and go over to the window. Gusts of wind make the pane rattle. During the night a thick layer of hoar-frost has covered the glass, etching it with exquisite crystal patterns. The sun behind it turns everything into translucent silver.

The frost has sculpted shapes like little fir trees that wind their way from one side of my window frame across to the other. In between them are smaller patches of crystal filigree that sparkle like tiny flower beds. It's so beautiful. I walk through this garden by running my finger across the frost, up and down, in and out. Its heat leaves a smudged pathway. When my finger gets too cold I hold it in my other hand to warm it and I begin my walk again. Suddenly my mother's voice breaks my journey. "Susan, come away from that cold window and get into some warm clothes. You'll be late for breakfast and the school bus will leave without you." Slowly I move away and start to dress.

burning hoop pine—
scent of a warm kitchen
oatmeal with brown sugar