Colleen M. Farrelly

harvest moon

his change cup fills

with dead crickets

—Colleen M. Farrelly

Ephemerae, a haibun by Colleen M. Farrelly

I amble the beach as waves fall and rise and fall again. The wind whips at my down jacket and shifts the sand dunes across a worn pebble path we walked as children. I haven’t been back since her wake but find myself at her favorite dock.

guy rope

her hand steadies

my heartbeat

Bug Logs, a haibun by Colleen M. Farrelly

It’s a three-mile hike to the first entomology site; dawn peaks through the mangrove canopy. A swarm of drywood termites flanks a long-fallen log near the walkway. I jot a quick location note as a faint ocean breeze creaks the branches curving over our bridge like ibis beaks.

 

summer sunrise

a frog croaks

in the heat

Yearling, a haibun by Colleen M. Farrelly

Spring blooms azaleas, crocuses, and snowdrops. The moon rises and sets and rises again. A fox kit scampers off for the first time. 

Later, I reconnect with old friends at the lake cabin bonfire.

 

rosebud  the  prick  of  passing  time

I                                  travel

prune                              last

my                                 year’s

friend                             daisies

list                               bloom

post-election howling at the moon again

Colleen M. Farrelly

spring rain

I trace his name

on the tombstone

—Colleen M. Farrelly