Even

A haiku with a quiet reflection

Photo by simon on Unsplash

snowstorm —
even the wolves’ paw prints
grow fainter

—

The snowstorm is busy erasing the landscape, softening every edge beneath another layer of white. Across the trail, paw prints offer brief evidence that wolves passed this way before the weather began reclaiming their tracks. Each new gust fills the impressions a little more, until even these signs of wild movement become difficult to follow.

There is something quietly humbling in watching such traces disappear. The wolves may still be somewhere beyond the curtain of snow, unseen and perhaps unheard, while the storm steadily removes the path behind them. Soon there may be nothing left to show they were ever there. Winter has its own way of keeping secrets, covering even the surest footsteps with silence.

First published on NaHaiWriMo.

Curious how these small moments become haiku? I’ve written a short guide called The Three-Minute Haiku System, which shows a simple way to turn an observation into a draft haiku in just a few minutes.