Haibun: Driftwood

I’m sure there’s a proper name for this type of dried wood in the desert, but everyone I know calls it driftwood. Instead of the water turning it gray, here in the desert it is the sun that dries every living thing out of the branches.

Yet, under the gaze of the mighty Superstition, about 8 miles by foot over trails is the closest river water that this driftwood may have drifted with. It doesn’t apply, but it is applied.

So it goes with how I mislabel things in my life. The similarities give rise to the emotions that give rise to my prejudice. It is similar so it must be like that. We call it driftwood even though it is nothing of the sorts. We do it with confidence, so it must be right.

so far from water

driftwood in hotter, bone dry

parched spring lullaby