1.9.24 – haibun…plane rumbles

plane rumbles
through a cloudless sky
pen pauses

Time feels like it opens into now, into forever, into always simply here. The furnace beeps and creaks. The freeway traffic hums along.

crows calling
sun upon treetops
hand moving

The pen scratches as it moves along the white-lined page. Hand’s shadow follows along. Some inner “thing” has quieted and settled. Simply here now – spacious and empty. The train whistles heading south.

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© ryl brock wilson 2024