Haibun after Whitman

I Stand and Look at Them Long and Long
                                      —Walt Whitman, Song of Myself, #32

        morning news 
        the same clamor and fury
        as yesterday

I pull on my boots, step outside, and hike beyond the hen house, the leaky spigot and compost pile, to the old pine at the edge of our lot. Shutting out the static, I lean against rough bark, watch the measured reveal of banded iron ore as dawn breaks over the mountain.

A quail trailing chicks emerges from the thistle patch, her top-feather bobbing, delicate and precise. No polls, no opinions, no hype. Just hunger and caution. The slow turn of the Earth.

        UPS truck
        the neighbor’s geese
        raise a ruckus

Modern Haiku 56.3, Autumn 2025