Doreen King

Having Been Thrown out

clear‑cut shadows
through them the sharpness
of caws of crows

The terracotta forecourt looks garish now it has been darkened by rain. I pass by the old wind‑chime cross the long grass and say goodbye to the stallion in the paddock. Ahead is a grey gloom of trees and then the foothills.

things no one will know
I paint mauve archillia
in watery sunlight

Eventually, I find myself in a disused field with clots of night clouds above me, and I tell the abandoned, half collapsed scarecrow everything. No Why didn't yous; no sympathy. The wind changes. Deep blue cornflowers shiver and I feel cold. The black bulk of night comes. I unroll my sleeping bag and snuggle down. The next minute it is morning and I pack away my things.

all those years ...
a roseate leaf comes to rest
on my closed bag

Blue sesleria underfoot and all around­each blade a mere brushstroke in the world's painting,, yet together give a wide glaucous haze to the foothills, making them so inviting.

Published in The Unseen Wind: British Haiku Society Haibun Anthology 2009, Lynne Rees and Jo Pacsoo (Editors), British Haiku Society.