February Gothic

A haibun

photo by the author

It rains. Screams echo beyond the glass, desperately alive. A multitude of dark, winged apertures dot the sky, delicately balanced against the frail fractals of treetops. Dawn is swallowed by cloud and sound, the fiery blaze replaced with a colorless roar. All at once, the raucous horde ascends as living smoke, black and boisterous. Maple skeletons loom, picked clean of flesh.

Grackles, chattering
and calling, turn the treetops
into eyelet lace

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