Hoar’s whisperer


Hoar Frost, West Yorkshire.

The world is new this morning as my breath blows small clouds into being. They form briefly then disappear into the thin cold air. Such cloud making is a deep life affirmation. Nothing quite like seeing your own breath. Days like this tingle you alive.

The trees are glistening with early sun dancing on the hoar frosted branches. Crystals winking magic at me. It is a wonderland and I am awestruck by it’s beauty. I am aware of the blessing of life. The privilege I am gifted. I breathe in, deeply and smile.

breath in and breath out

winter’s silent rhythm sounds~

frozen in the now


submission for dVerse Haibun Prompt Shimo no koe~ first frost




20 thoughts on “Hoar’s whisperer

  1. Glenn Buttkus says:

    Incredible poem–sparkling haibun. We are in the throes of reeling to another mass shooting over here, and your sweet poetry redirects my grief, and gives us perspective. I dislike winter–too much traffic on dangerous hills. I read your title as “Whore’s Whisper”; smile.

    • paul scribbles says:

      Thanks Glenn. The shooting is another symptom of the state of play Globally. Closer to home Catalan friends are being batoned for exercising the right to vote. Crazy crazy world. Could be whore’s…could be Horse 😉

  2. kim881 says:

    I love the wordplay in the title, Paul, and the paragraph about frozen breath clouds – that’s something I’ve loved to do since I was very little! I also enjoy the magic-winking crystals. I especially love the haiku – frozen in the now.

  3. Misky says:

    I love a hoar frost. We don’t see them often down here in the SE corner. Perhaps if we had more of them I’d share your wonder and delight of this season.

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