Chris Bays
Hallowed Ground
Shadows of blossoms once flickered on this windowsill. Tree limbs swayed across the upper terrace of the garden, scattering sunlight. Most of the limbs grew from a black cherry tree. It was planted by opa for oma as a symbol of hope before he marched into war–only to not return. Oma tended it for forty years, baking German chocolate cakes filled with its tart fruit for family, keeping the memory of its planting alive. But when her arthritic knees couldn’t climb the ladder or bend to pick the fruit from the ground, when she couldn’t clean crimson stains on stairs or stand the muted light, she did what none in the family expected. She had the tree removed, bringing light back to the windowsill.
scattered petals . . . sparks erupt over smoldering wood
About the Author
Chris Bays is a father, college professor, art lover, chess player, foodie, and trekker. His awards include first place for best unpublished haibun in the 2020 Haiku Society of America Haibun Awards contest. Chris’ haiku and haibun have been published widely including several appearances in the Red Moon Anthology of English-Language Haiku.