spinning haikus

The sun shone on our plentiful spiders’ webs. One sliver thread joined a bush to the towel I’d hung on the washing line 20 minutes earlier. “Quick work,” said Fin.

I ducked under the line, avoiding the webs, and walked over to Alec and Briony sitting at the garden table.

“We’re writing haikus,” they told me. Of course they were.

They read me what they had so far. They’d been almost as productive as the spiders.

I remembered a thought that had been bounced around at Annekoos’s party the night before. Briony had put forward conkers fading as the epitome of disappointment. Somebody else thought snow getting messed up and melting just as sad. Briony maintained that a faded conker beats sludge in the poignancy stakes.

On the sunny spidery morning I suggested we write a haiku about these disappointments.

“A perfect snow! Melts,” said Briony.

“Sunday afternoon. Dwindles,” said Alec.

“Shiny conkers! Fade,” I added.

“Quick work,” said Fin.