Counting

Counting

“Did you know a plane flies over your house every seven minutes?” Dad asks. I didn’t know that. Dad is checking his watch again. “There goes another one,” he says triumphantly. I check my watch. He’s right. It has been exactly seven minutes. Dad likes to measure things. He was a scientist, before he retired. He taught me how to measure my pulse, how many steps to take before letting the kite string out, and how to count the gap between lightning and thunder. In his world, everything is precise and orderly. The hospice nurse says he has six months or less to live. That’s a lot of airplanes.

deepening twilight…
one by one
stars appear

Contemporary Haibun, Volume 14

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6 thoughts on “Counting

  1. I love how you reverse the expected imagery. In writing about death, you note how many planes will fly instead of the shortness of time. You note the stars arrivals with the darkness. Perhaps only time can give this lightness (bright not weight) to such deep feelings. Thank you for it.

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