Yesterday, when my husband told me his plans, I was reluctant to be left behind.

The plumes of fountain in City Park Lake shoot up and arch northwest, misting the paddle boaters far away. Trees wear their leaves around their feet, like a dancer who’s lost her slip but won’t stop dancing to hitch it up.

So I followed him to the museum.

From here, the world appears to be open to anything. That which closes us in is transparent, and we feel comforted by the space between us and other things.

Now I await his return from adventures with dinosaurs.

***

After writing haibun on Mondays for two months now, I discovered I was making an embarrassing mistake. Instead of having the haiku at the end of the haibun run 5-7-5, I’ve been writing them 7-5-7. I knew that haiku were not supposed to exceed 17 syllables, but somehow I wrote a bunch of 19-syllable ones without noticing. Then I read this post on Editorial Ass‘s site and thought, “Oops!”

Not that haiku have to be 17 syllables. Or three lines. I’ve seen them in Frogpond written as one line, or stacked, or in the typical three-line structure but with fewer than 17 syllables.

Maybe I should go through the most recent issue and see how many were 19.