Cherry Blossoms – A Haibun

Cherry Blossoms in Stockholm

The cherry trees are budding. Like the love in our hearts.
Soon it will fill the garden with clouds of blossoms.
That will rain upon us as we kiss beneath the bright spring moon.

Love’s first pale pink blush
Hides high summer’s hot passion
And fall’s thunderstorms


Written for tonight’s Haibun Monday (3-29-21): Cherry Blossoms at dVerse.
Decided to keep it as short and sweet as possible.

The photo’s are both taken late April in Stockholm previous years

Read other Haibun’s by me here.

Cherry Blossoms in Stockholm

Dark Stairwell – A Haibun

Photo by Francesco Ungaro from Pexels

A dark stairwell. My cat meowing and howling in his box. The grownups swearing over the scratches they got when forcing him in. My mothers volatile mood. Grief flashing to rage, flashing to confused numbness flashing back to grief.

My aunts and uncles have strange whispering voices. Walking on eggshells. Afraid to do or say anything that reminds us. Like it’s possible to forget.
Like it’s possible to step out of the endless loop of grief and confusion.

I did not understand. How could daddy just be gone forever? And who is that stranger looking out of my mother’s eyes?

Like a plucked flower
A rootless child drifts astray
Unseen and unloved


Written for Walk with me down Memory Lane… today’s Haibun prompt over at dVerse.

I’m one of those that might have opted out of this one, knowing the punch in some of my memories. Also knowing I do not have them all. Nearly everything before my fathers death, two months before my sixth birthday. And two months before my younger siblings birth. Are built up by photo albums and my mother’s stories. And those stories tended to shift over the years. Even today, if one of her children mentions a story she told us over, and over, and over again – only to be met with a blank stare and a totally new story.

Both of us have long ago lost the sense that we will ever know the truth. We have our own memories, as far back as they go. Beyond that we will never know.

And I, again, ended up with fragments so small I don’t know what the memory is about. And this memory, of the dark stairwell, in the house we’re moving out of just weeks after my father passed away.

I have no pictures of that time. But I do have this from what seems a happier time then I can remember.

Photo by Ravi Kant from Pexels

The Sea is Gray

Photo by Ray Bilcliff from Pexels

The sea is gray and foaming at the tips, in the late November gale.
The wind tries to push me over the embankment, into the chilling,
killing waters.

Like a leaf blow about, my feelings flutter.
Cold and gray isolation. Touch deprivation.

Can one soul, separated apart, weather coming winter storm alone?

The wind turns northly
Clear, sharp, turning the air stark
Cold, dark winter falls

© RedCat

Written for tonight’s Haibun challenge over at dVerse.

Return To New Normal

Photo by Oleg Magni on

What will the world look after the pandemic? How will the geopolitical landscape change? How will that affect me personally?
Will one catastrophe lead us to accept responsibility for, and take action against, the looming human made climate emergency.

Even before the pandemic my life where in flux, changing. It still is.
A history of unprocessed trauma, a newly acquired trauma activating full PTSD and leading to major depression, will do that to a life. But now the urgency to imagine a better future, for all humans, feels even more acute.

So what should I do? Change career?
Change residence from city to wildwood?
First step. Change myself to the core! Rewriting those programs that prohibits self-love, true self, esteem, courage to live my truth, my goals, my dreams.

In springs pale rebirth
I see the truth of seasons
Birth, growth, change, rebirth

© RedCat

Posted as response to Tuesday Writing Prompt Challenge: Tuesday, May 5, 2020.

Photo by Janko Ferlic on

Warm February

Frits Thaulow [Public domain]
Spring Thaw, Nationalmuseum, NMB 306

This is the coldest time of the year. The light slowly returning.
Temperatures are ten to fifteen degrees Celsius higher than normal.
The bare ground made midwinter darkness seem more compact.

Now with daylight returning, the unseasonal warmth makes the bird sing spring, and plants to raise buds.

Will darkness without offsetting snow, be our winters in a warming climate?
Can Nordic nature adapt to longer periods of warmth?

Part of me miss snow.
Spring thaw is so renewing. So life-affirming.

Beneath thawing snow
Spring shoots roots of warm summer
Human urge quickens


Written for Haibun Monday 2/3/2020: Spring at dVerse. Also posted to weekly challenge: RENEWAL at earthweal.

Beginning (again) – Haibun

Some journeys are undertaken
not because of want
but of need.

They upset life, change it.
And even though the need is great.
I fear.
Who am I to upset the pot?

Choice, they say.
Yes, a choice!
Between a stifling life, that will kill a story filled soul,
or a word filled journey of poetic self-discovery.
Destination unknown.

Under the winter frost
Nature begin yet anew
Set to fight for life


Written for Björns prompt at dVerse ~ Beginning (again) – Haibun.

Website Built with

Up ↑