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ahg 13


A Haibun in Memoriam for Hortensia Anderson

June 24, 1959 – May 21, 2012

by Sheila Windsor - England


The news was expected, yet hit home. Morning now on auto. Snippets of memories. Blur of laundry. Words on a screen. Then, the enchanted garden. How you would love the fragrant sway of light and shade, through venerable branches gnarled, blossom gone except for apple still to come … and fruit later, the autumn your eyes will not look upon. The tortoises listen, so it seems to me, as I read out our poems to the sky… sapphire blue

Back inside. The news still raw in the air. Punctuated. I track wing-beats to the open French doors, which now frame a hovering chaffinch, within reach, we are held eye to eye. It lights on top of the door for perch. I am out of thought, mesmerised. It leaves the door, hovers again, flies. Twice more at intervals it reappears.

On my way to the sun I run a finger around the inkstone… my heart is light.

mirror-pond our faces in the sky


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