Seeds catch the air, scattering, dispersing, falling. They burrow under the earth, embedded, laden with green. They wait to be painted in rainbows, to laugh with joy as they open and seek the sky. They remember the kisses of bees.
The North Wind pushes back, sunless and relentless, chilling its moisture into frozen blankets of grey.
Sleeplessness holds me–
I like awake, listening,
heavy with the dark.
Merril at dVerse asked us to consider March Madness, using the haibun form.