Member-only story
Will
A haiku with a quiet reflection
my father’s will —
the orchard
I never wanted
—
An inheritance can arrive carrying more than anyone intended to leave behind. The orchard stands there, rooted and established, its trees holding years of another person’s choices. On paper it may look like a windfall, something valuable passed from father to child. But gifts are complicated when they come with roots too deep to simply move elsewhere.
Perhaps there are memories among those trees, welcome or otherwise, and obligations waiting with every season. What was wanted matters less to a will than what can be named and handed down. Now the orchard remains, asking nothing and requiring plenty. Sometimes what we inherit is not a possession so much as a question left for us to answer.
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.
