Margaret Chula

Observance

Playa at Summer Lake, Oregon           

 At 12:56 PM, I sit cross-legged on the couch in my long gray skirt, orange tank top, and a silk scarf to reflect on the moment of my birth in Brattleboro, Vermont. The wind, which has been blowing all morning, comes to a standstill. Utter quiet as I begin meditation.

Not so peaceful for Mother nearly three-quarters of a century ago. How can I not think about her today, the woman who brought me into the world and who is no longer in it? Pricks of tears against my eyelids. I want her beside me on this Indian summer day of blue skies and sunshine to gaze at cattails releasing their feathery seeds, and mallards gliding on the pond. And a red-breasted sapsucker that she could have added to her life list.

                                     aspen leaves
                            rattle in the wind
               my heart pulses—
                           the many sounds
                          of memory

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About the Author

Margaret Chula has been writing haiku, haibun, and tanka for over forty years. One Leaf Detaches (haiku) was awarded a Touchstone Distinguished Book Award in 2019. Her new haibun memoir is Firefly Lanterns: Twelve Years in Kyoto. See more of her work at www.margaretchula.com.