Lynn McLure

Liminal

The trees are silent, stripped. Dry leaves whisper against my boots. At the pasture edge a shriveled apple lies half eaten in fading grass, and the interior of a walnut shell is suddenly beautiful. The last birdsong is the warning of a crow. Pink shadows climb uphill. Fences sharpen and shine in slant light. The air smells gray. 

scarlet berries
on a bare stem 
tiny joys

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About the Author

Lynn McLure’s work has appeared in Frogpond, Ribbons, Pinesongs, and Asheville Poetry Review. She’s won two Lyman haiku awards from the North Carolina Poetry Society and First Place and Honorable Mention in the HSA 2011 Haibun Awards. Her linked haiku is featured in Haiku and Senryu by Charlotte Digregorio. She lives on a mountain farm and wanders the woods.

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