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a haibun
The fading light shines through the stained glass windows,
washing the sanctuary in a soft, yellow glow. The church service
is over, and aside from the few volunteers cleaning up after
the evening meal, the congregation has departed. A middle-aged
man walks in through the swinging doors, looking for his 5-yr.-old
son who has run off to avoid cleaning detail. The pauses as
he enters, sensing the peace of the silent room. He slowly
makes his way to the front, and he spies his son curled up,
asleep in the first pew. He lifts his child to his shoulder
and with brief glance upward, turns to leave.
Alone ~
the sanctuary speaks more loudly
than the preacher had |
another haibun
The mother was frazzled, having run all day – taking
care of her children’s activities and working at her
church. At 6:00 p.m. she still wore the sweat suit she had
hurriedly thrown on that morning as she rose to get her reluctant
children out of bed. Her hair was slightly mussed, and, as
she wore no make-up, the shadow of what would soon become
deep lines stood out around her mouth and eyes. She stood
over the stove, preparing her family’s dinner as her
youngest child gabbed in a loud, incessant voice about her
1st grade music class. Frustrated and tired, the mother turned
to tell the child to go into the other room and find her sister.
But as she turned, the 6-yr.-old sighed, threw her arm around
the mother’s knees, and rested her head against her hip
– as if to say she was glad to be home. The mother smiled
softly, and, turning back to the stove, asked to hear about
the rest of her child’s day.
mother’s tired arms
always find energy
for a hug |
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