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

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N.C. Whitehead



The butterfly fell from its cocoon onto the concrete below with a soft thump. The creature stood with a totter, its black and orange wings welded together like a fleshy shell upon its back. In the sky, its brethren streaked past as laughing children ran to catch them. Ignoring the noise, the form crawled into the darkness of the nearby bushes.

low rustle...
the wind also crawls
through the grass