

Today’s prompt for Haibun Monday at dVerse poets pub is Equinox.
Burning Brightly
In the morning I entered my garden curious to see if the tiny acorn squash had grown, but I couldn’t tell. I picked two small cucumbers, and then saw her bright yellow head held high on her skinny stalk. The first sunflower I’ve ever grown opened the morning of the equinox. As if summer left me goodbye kisses to linger so I would not grieve it’s sudden parting half way through this day. Enraptured I rushed to capture the moment my heart singing. Yet I knew the rains were coming and though yesterday I was swimming, suddenly my behavior changed in curious autumnal ways.
By afternoon I had cleaned the years of soot from the fireplace glass, torn up boxes and crumpled up paper, a rest for the wood I fetched and nestled inside. But to my horror as the flames grew, rising toward the flue, a moth fluttered from inside the overlapped screens. I wished he would fly up the chimney before the flames licked his wings, but somehow he squeezed through an unseen space and flew to the window, his body shivering against the pane. He didn’t flee the cup and paper capsule I used as transport, but flew so fast into the rain, it felt like summer left again.
A day of equals
sunflower and glassed-in fire
both hold me enrapt
Nice post
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you.
LikeLike
I am happy for the moth… he seemed wise to remember not being drawn to the light.
LikeLiked by 2 people
That really is the perfect balance, the old year not dying, but disappearing into the changing weather.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Wow, Maria. This is beauty in all its forms. Your writing is filled with such emotion – the two scenes you depicted so elegantly reveal much about how you look at life… so positive and full of appreciation. Beautiful, Maria. Very beautiful.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you. I’m glad you liked it.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Absolutely loved how the moth made summer leave for a second time. Just wonderful.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Wow, Maria! That moth anecdote in particular really struck me! Such wonderful writing and sharing ~ thank you!
Much love,
David
LikeLiked by 1 person
A wonderful haibun. I love the contrast in just one day. Well done.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you. Never a dull moment here. 😊
LikeLiked by 1 person
You are welcome.
LikeLike
I want to downplay it and say I have a sappy heart, but why downplay the wish that creatures live? I am happy for that moth. ❤ You had the same reaction as I did, perhaps it’s instinct. I used a tabletop fireplace over the weekend (partly because I wasn’t feeling well and the flame seemed nice with all the rain and cool weather) which I hadn’t used since March. It’s like bring on the pumpkins and autumn. We’re ready. Loved your haibun. Many happy returns for our gardens. 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
I’m so happy for that moth too. I was so afraid it was going to burn up in front of me. I would have felt terrible. When it slipped out into the living room, it was like magic.
LikeLiked by 1 person
💖 Love the magic!
LikeLiked by 1 person
I like the grieving and the preparing going on in this. My favorite part: “The first sunflower I’ve ever grown opened the morning of the equinox. As if summer left me goodbye kisses to linger so I would not grieve it’s sudden parting”
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you. I’m glad you liked it.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I don’t believe in accidents. That is exactly why the sunflower bloomed on equinox. You’re welcome.
LikeLiked by 1 person
A second even smaller one has opened. I have four growing. The tallest and largest one has yet to bloom. I’m really looking forward to it. 🌻😍
LikeLiked by 1 person
🙂
LikeLike
A harrowing experience for you and the moth, no doubt! Wonderfully evoked, and I love how the haiku complements your prose so well!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you. I enjoyed the prompt. This was the first year I remember that the season change here was so blatant and timed with the equinox.
LikeLiked by 1 person