Month: Nov 2025

my favourite tree

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Cycling by the river, for the first time in ages, on a night in late November, I stopped under the tree where I had sat many times before. My muse tree, my kingfisher tree, my seat for all seasons. The dark waters churning; the soil cold through my inappropriately thin trousers. No longer familiar with the small space I kept away from the edge, the edge where I had previously sat with my bare legs dangling over the muddy bank, the muddy bank where the kingfisher nests. From here I would notice the first burst of spring: catkins on the ends of branches, tiny leavesh unfurling, the rising sound of bird call. From here I saw herons, cormorants, swans, geese, ducks. Once a leaping salmon, twice an inquisitive otter. The spot where I would pause on my way to work, too late to return home after dropping the girls at school, but too early to arrive for the first of many meetings. A flick through my schedule, a check of my emails. Not tonight. Tonight is dark and I was returning home. My life has moved on. The girls take themselves everywhere and I wonder where to take myself.

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my favourite tree
its leaves all drifted downstream 
branches full of stars

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[This type of writing, with a section of prose followed by a haiku is called haibun. It is often how I arrive at a haiku, by scribbling down observations first and allowing the little snapshot to appear. Usually the scribblings aren’t worth keeping, but I liked the context that this one establishes.]