On Mangrove Shore

My ears promenade the wetland, a thicket of muffling from the splashing shoreline, while our elevated path, as unvisited as poetry books in library, tunnels through the dense mangrove swamp. The morning tide recedes to uncover the tangled roots, indulging the shrubs a whiff of spring’s moist, yeasty air. I stroll down the green galleria behind my little boy, beneath the vault of a veiled sky.

On olive canvas
Winter breathes her last ashore —
Ashen is the wind

 

Colin Lee

colin-lee-small

Note: The haibun, a juxtaposition of prose and verse, was prompted by dVerse’s Haibun Monday, on taking a forest bath.

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11 thoughts on “On Mangrove Shore

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  1. So so glad you posted this. You’ve described, and deliciously so, a mangrove shore in all its wonder.
    Sad, but true, the comparison to the least travelled path (nod to Frost), the poetry shelf in the library and this hidden place where you walk. Beautiful!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you, Beverly. The memory is also mine. It is cliche to say, but what a father sees in his son is (in a positive and nostalgic way) a reminder of himself. And if life is a library, then fatherhood is definitely a genre of its own. Yet we as fathers are so often caught up and distracted by files and shelves of agendas, it is so easy for us to rush past our greatest blessings without flipping through a page and submerging ourselves in that moment of beauty.

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    1. Thanks Bjorn! I like English words such as this that I can’t find equivalent translations in my native language to include both their specific and ambiguous meanings to carry the same sentimental weights. I’m so glad this word came to mind as I closed the piece. Lucky me.

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    1. Thank you for your verdict, Toni sensei. Now that I have tried it, I do find the haibun a very interesting form, especially on its subtlety in conveying emotional depth without explicitly expressing the emotional. Sensing the passing of my youth while witnessing the emergence of my son’s as I strolled behind my boy, the sentiment just naturally hums its presence in the tides, in the change of seasons, and in the air and wind. Thank you so much for the prompt!

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      1. Thank you for your haibun. I like the many different faces of the haibun ending with the cool haiku. I fell in love with the form years ago. I always enjoy reading the submissions for my haibun prompt. Some of the haibun makes my heart sing or laugh aloud or weep.

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