I had gone away to write, a solo writer's retreat. I stayed in a beautiful lodge and I wrote. But I was restless, so I walked into the neighboring woods, and in a grove where the light was warm and golden, reflecting the autumn leaves, I saw a dryad scamper back to her oak and disappear into it. I stood until I noticed the light beginning to fade, and the colors of the grove dimmed. I walked up to the oak, touched its bark, said, "Thank you," and "Goodbye." Then I walked back to the lodge, more silently than I had come.
in this august place
the trees spoke to me - and I
found ears to listen
* * *
This haibun was written in response to a prompt at Big Tent Poetry.