A Famine of Ink
Daily I explore the wash, always finding something new—or old.
Some days I find stones, trying to turn to jelly in the sun. (Edgar Lee Masters penned that delicious image in Spoon River Anthology.)
Other days, little husks filled with ripe seeds remind me of gardens I planted and harvested long ago.
Today an odd-shaped metal contrivance, swept downstream from a distant farmstead, seems to be whispering, “Here I am.”
I pause and kneel in wonder before this piece of civilization’s jetsam. Is it the base of a kerosene lamp? Is the farmhouse kitchen now without light, except for the sun by day and flickering flames leaking from the wood cookstove by night?
Is it an empty inkpot? Does the poet who lost it now write with a twig in the sand or her finger in the air?
Posted on February 18, 2012, in Arizona, haibun, Haiku My Heart, Northern Arizona, Shadow Shot Sunday 2, Straight Out of the Camera Sunday, The Haiku Challenge 2012. Bookmark the permalink. 43 Comments.