She was conceived of Springtime’s grace. Flower- child molded from the freshness and a burst of indescribable hues. Like Sabbath delicacy and freckled tints of June morning; this woman became the melody of dawn and solace of midnight. Until, grey winter blinded her eyes so almond. Cycles of discoveries slipped between dark and glitter. Oh, but her spirit remained undaunted--- more daring and quite misunderstood. Grandma listened to a glowing sky, instead; and fondled avian drawings through her chest. Her passion for life was full just the same.
through a roused breeze
image flares, tracing colors...
muted in darkness
Nonetheless, she wore Springtime leaves evergreen. More trails of seasons arose and departed; and in between, her words laced the Braille with wonder. Grandma held the moon that spiked her hunger for more flowers. She decorated her own thoughts without need for remorse; imagination came with her own sunsets, endless. And her fire for life was full just the same.
as leaves cluttered
moonlight swathes blossoms...
opening new roots
Haibun Form Contest, Broken Wings