A Haibun

We walked up the stairs to the sounds of birds. The sky a perfect blue, much like promised in travel brochures. The only noise was that of a motor at a construction site and somebody’s cough, echoing down the stairway. A door opening and closing. No voices. Palm leaves lightly fluttering in the wind. People looking up, wondering why we’d stand and write. Going up I had to hold my skirt so I wouldn’t trip. On the highline we felt a cool breeze. Two young boys were playing with their father between the walkways. I never before noticed the tree growing here. Out of place in the Gulf climate. Thick trunk, Gray leaves. A plane slowly made its way across the sky right above the torch on the roof. I wondered if I could ever stand there and how small I would look in comparison. The button on my chest came loose and opened again. I should probably sew it in. People talked. I find it awkward to even imagine talking while I observe. Ended up in the Arabic literature isle of the library. A book I first picked up said: “People ate just to satisfy their craving for flavor”. I wondered if the hunger I felt was valid.

Promises of bliss
Fall with inconvenience
Craving winter breeze