#NaPoWriMo Day 12 A Haibun

From the brow of the hill you can see the Scots Pines, proud against the wind and years, planted long before we came. The Ravens nest there now, tumbling deep-voiced across these farming valleys. We planted the Leylandii, little knee-high saplings. Now they stand immense and spreading, home to such birds as thrush, chaffinch, pigeon, tiny goldcrest, pantalooned rooks – and a hunting ground for cats. The honeysuckle, shelter for the sparrows for so long, has been cut down to its roots. Under the fragrant Eucalyptus, a colony of wasps moved in and settled, till disturbed by an unsuspecting strimmer. Now they’re gone, exterminated, (so he thinks). There were little fields when we arrived, outlined with wild cherry trees and water-loving alder, all disappeared, razed to give the farmers scope to move their herds with ease. Each year, each passing season brings a change and death and life, and the Pines watch over it all.

Trees grow, trees decay
Life and death all hand in hand
Change lives here always


Una Kavanagh April 2018