Witch's Hair

by Heather Knight

The mauve and orange dusk wraps itself around my neck like a precious pendant. I shiver in the shade of the lonely willow. If I close my eyes, I can see the past. A little girl, her face framed by golden curls, runs towards her dad. She has a ruby red poppy in her hand and her smile is so big that it makes everything around her shine. The man watches her as if she was the most precious thing ever. Because to him she is ... precious.

dear daddy, goodbye
back then I was not ready
you should not have gone

I open my eyes again. The spell is broken. I'm still under the willow, but the sky has turned black. Electric blue dragonflies dance in the air. Bright stars shine above me, and I'm sure Dad is one of them. I know he's still taking care of me, like he used to do when I was the little girl with the golden curls. I am happy out here, but the breeze is getting colder, and the leaves of the willow graze my arms and make me think of a witch's hair. So I go home.

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I've written this for my dad who passed away when he was only sixty-three. He was a lovely man.

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A haibun

Witch's Hair

by Heather Knight

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