When temperatures dropped into the 20s one November night, we awoke to pale green puffs of mulberry leaves covering the garden, filling the birdbath as though a gentle rain had fallen. The leaves had a soft green translucence to them, young as springtime, the last gift of autumn
The garden was quiet and somber, but for that touch of color on this sunless morning surrounded by skeletal oaks and sycamores preparing for the long cold months, a time for thoughtful introspection. Protected beneath rich black soil, threads of life nestled below in dark, quiet stillness with hope and promise until the gifts of warmth and radiant light bring forth a burst of new life.
The black cat crosses
the garden gingerly —
unaware of miracles
Haibun by Pat Kopanda and photos by Frank Hubeny, both members of Prairie Writers Guild.