The lamps are out along the second kilometre’s stretch of trail, and the moon intermittent between trees. I have to remember to lift my feet to avoid the dark rivulets that are indistinguishable from roots. The world flips inside out, and back again; and light rises from the greenhouses along the shore to the west.

an edge of orange
spill from the coast paints the moon
brown as the dirt we sow


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all rights reserved, if there is still such a thing: © Ren Powell

This is one of a series of haibun based on morning runs along the same 6k route.

You joke about waking up 2 kilometres into the morning run. The lights from the lamps stretch and collapse us as in a time-elapsed film; and you will have slept a dozen years before we reach the bend where the trees fall back and the wind, sailing over the lake, hits us squarely.

It jars from me a memory of a home.

pre-dawn mist becomes rain
the shadow crosses the trial
then the lone starling