Anything Is Possible: A Haibun

If I could touch the sound of a dove with my fingertips, I would. But my hopes are dashed; the little songster flees as I draw near. The dove calls again. Surely this time! Stealthily I move forward, but a dry leaf crackles underfoot. Hush now, I say to myself, you’re making too much noise; surely she hears you. But, no, there on a branch of the plum is the dove, and there is her song, pouring from her beak like a silver waterfall. Slowly, ever so slowly, I approach, I reach, I touch the sparkling notes. The dove does not stir, though she knows full well what I’m doing. You doubt my story? In the Age of Donald Trump, anything is possible.

An old Buddhist monk,
who never tells me his name,
visits me in dreams.

Windmill

Yuma Conservation Garden, Yuma, Arizona
 

neglected windmill
still trying to stir things up
after New Year’s Day

 
Haiku and photo © 2016 by Magical Mystical Teacher