The Trolley Ride – a haibun

If you ride a trolley long enough you’ll come to the end of the line.  You can then remember the sights and stops, the riders that come and go.  Maybe trouble on the line, cross words or banter, perchance the frozen grim look of out-of-sorts folks. Perhaps that little girl with lollipop all over her face. But search the faces–all of them–whose do you want to see?

poppinjays alight

the limb too weak to support

night slides into day

 

 

About Nan Mykel

At 79, I was just about to stop keeping a journal, but that felt like accepting that growth was finished. I don't want to be finished, yet! I'm 80 now, and struggling to communicate with you, if you'll come and set awhile. P.S. My how time flies! I'm 82 now.
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