It’s Haibun time at d’Verse again, and Merril asks us to write about March Madness. Comments and critiques welcomed!
Like many people Seasonal Affective Disorder, my days revolve around sunrise and length of day. Winter is for sleeping like bears, for dark is a lullabye, and morning light a clarion call. In December, I slothly cry; in June, I swarm like wasps. Easing into March, the sun and I rise earlier and earlier, sauntering toward our perfect 6 am dawn. It is now that I feel most ‘normal’ and my brain hums contentedly, neither too fast nor too slow.
One week from now, there will be light past seven, but none before. The hammer of savings falls swift and hard: in one tick of the dial, my body’s clock is frosty January, and I am sluggish and cold. It will be weeks before I hum again.
yellow and bright; yet icy
rime waits for dawn’s light.