Late Post: September 28th Haibun

The Way of Wheels

I have no idea why I keep counting, but they are there as if to say, "I'm important too!" They are dark discarded wedges, like curled up cobras (perhaps more like an ouroboros as we take the same route to and from the many places we go each day), or like pieces of doughnut in the middle of the road or highway. Some have frayed ends like thistledown, or have blown up like bits of confetti or myrtle blossoms after the guests are long gone. Some are next to rusted rims and cubed pebbles of glass, and some others have skid marks that point to them like where "X" marks the spot as if there's an accident because the driver is too drunk to notice the world and pay attention to the color-coded sky of red and green against the hungry stars.

late September
steering away from the cracks
in the road
the fall of my thoughts
at the water fountain


*Written 9/28/2011; revised 9/30/2011.
(Written for the Writing as Spiritual Practice E-course and WOWH's Mindful Writing Prompt #16.)