nest in clover bank

by Elouise

nest in clover bank
sleepy summer afternoon
salty river smell

* * * * *

I’m 8 or 9 years old—
a budding writer looking for somewhere to write
and something to write about.

It’s gorgeous outside—
river flowing serenely, breeze coming in off the water,
grass thick and green.

I’m searching for The Right Place.
It has to be semi-private, just for me,
yet open enough that I can see inspirational things to write about.

I’m walking along the front edge of the bank
that slopes down to the marsh grass—
also a lovely green.

I spy the perfect spot–
A large stand of tall clover on the slope, bright and green.
I can make a little nest in it!

I flatten a nice cozy spot just for me,
leaving enough clover to hide me a bit like a baby bird.
I sit down in my little nest, pencil poised, waiting for Inspiration.

Unfortunately, I have to keep shifting around to get comfortable.
I didn’t count on the slope sloping down, or the ground being damp and cold.
But that’s OK since I’m not sure what to write.

I don’t want to force anything.
But I do have a pencil and a small tablet with an empty piece of paper
waiting for my inspired words.

I decide I want to write a poem.
I sit and think hard. Nothing comes to mind.
But I’m definitely in the right place for Inspiration to strike me.

I hear a little noise in the clover just next to me.
I look around but don’t see anything.
Just the breeze flowing through the clover.

Suddenly a thin green grass snake comes slithering out of the clover.
Inspiration strikes! I’ll write An Ode to the Snake in the Grass!
I freeze.  The inspirational snake passes in the grasses.

I work hard filling my poem with rhyming words,
perfectly matched sing-song lines, a beginning a middle and an end.
It’s a good thing my pencil has an eraser.

Suddenly Mother calls me to come and help her in the kitchen.
I don’t want anyone else to intrude on my nest, so
I use a piece of paper to make a sign:


I leave the sign right in the middle of the nest so nobody misses it.
Then I take my poem and go off to help Mother.
The End.

Haiku written 13 July 2012

 © Elouise Renich Fraser, 2 April 2014