Mysts of Yesteryear

So fellow travelers, there’s a tree I drive past every morning on my way to work.

It stands full and strong, in a wide open field, steadfast in its solitary reign. I never tire of the image as it shifts subtly through the seasons. Some mornings this Tree is my reminder to stand quietly through the winds of constant change.

A few weeks ago early morning light and fog created a mysterious vision. There was something there seeking to be known. Sitting with the images I captured, I sensed words playing in the mist. More sounds than statements, more feelings than phrases, like distant echoes of joy from a playground.

This haiku emerged from an accidental prompt contained in some helpful comments from my creative friends. It fit in a baffling and amusing way.


O rem yesteryear

Mystery of the unknown

Thoughts rise from the myst

Sometimes when we listen, even when the words don’t seem to make sense, we can find wisdom in our mistakes.

Walk gently on the path my friends and may adventure find you ready.

Deborah H Rahalski

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