The Frank Funny Farm

I spent a Sunday afternoon in a dress, in a tree. If you don’t like to have your picture taken, a photographer is perhaps not the best husband. Alas. It was cool, the setting sun casting its perfect quiet glow, a calm, knowing warmth against the brisk blue air. Brown and orange are sneaking into green, a chill creeps into the breezes, and the sun hides its face from mine much earlier now. I can feel, hear, see, smell and taste it: gin giving way to whiskey; martinis and sometimes even beer concede to red wine; summer squash become pumpkins, butternuts, acorns. Everything smells like apple pie. Or wood burning in the distance or the back yard. The squirrels on the tree are always running down, nut in mouth as the time to gather them runs out. My skin cool and pale, the wind lifting the hair on the back of my neck as the sun sinks just below the tree line. The tall green bits of grass towering above the brown are swaying and fluttering, dancing with the playful autumn wind.

orange beams bear warmth
while green still dominates brown
death looms; autumn lawn

Tags: basho, fall, haibun, haiku, pictures, tree