Smoldering Wordsmith Awakens — Haibun
Little smoke rising. Embers sparking in dried threads. Green and grey moss jumping under the flicker as small flames ignite inside and glowing out. Sparking like sweet crackling lightning my pen is fire — muse of mine merges intertwined. We burn on the pages incandescent, present and alive again, ever expressing.
Blazes cleaning pure
Clearing fresh paths once obscured,
now manifold gifts