My father was a fisherman. Before dawn, he surfcast off the coast of Montauk from a favourite boulder he liked to stand on. Ten years after his death, I return during a storm and come upon the boulder awash in waves. For some reason, I expected it to have gone with him.
dusk in winter –
a roiling sea
churns the sand
dusk in winter –
a roiling sea
churns the sand
by Hortensia Anderson
New York City, New York
This is a beautiful Haibun and i, too, am surprised the subtle twist in thought of the ending -- the boulder that should have washed away as memories fade.
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