Unsheathed from its special box - Japanese steel, sworled and beautiful... and there! The pumpkin cubes easily, orange blocks forming a chopping-board city. Shush shush shush, the mushrooms fall into slivers which are scraped into the baking tray atop the pumpkin, and zucchini pieces topple in too, green-backed moons. Top and tail beetroots, the whiskered … Continue reading Dinner

#Go Dog Go Haibun Wednesday

Write about the weather in Present Tense These last few days, everyone is saying “Thank goodness for the sun!” People are stretching like cats, long skin and whiskers pleased. It’s true the summer has been a wet one. Canberra wringing in a wet towel, warmth like dogs breath fogging up the sky. Mosquitoes are having … Continue reading #Go Dog Go Haibun Wednesday

#dVerse Haibun “Cold Mountain”

Evening Drive Driving on hill tops, the landscape is generous – unfiltered mapwork filling up the thirsty eye. This evening the horizon is thickly sponged – dark cloud bruises, gleaming chrome sky, the felt silhouette of mountains and, in the foreground, rolling khaki with wave-crest fences. At a fork, I’m sent on a detour. Here … Continue reading #dVerse Haibun “Cold Mountain”

Build Your House Around My Body

I stare out the car window at apparently limitless construction. Perhaps we resonate with skeletons, our new suburbs percolating out of them; the pulse and jut of naked road spindles and the bony reckoning of houses. Natural birthing prefers a wholeness – skins folded and pliable like petals, birds' wings, a snail’s antenna or the … Continue reading Build Your House Around My Body

August – Haibun Monday

August follows from a grey and fearful July – the closed hatch of cities in lock-down. Concrete and buildings hunkered under shifty, flannelette skies. The grime of recycled messages from haggard, mesh-faced leaders. Closed front doors, a stultifying blank. Resentment breeds as fast as the virus itself. Different areas, different rules. Anger like pavement cracks … Continue reading August – Haibun Monday