Marcy & Zakatik
Marcy
I was watching a leaf fall last evening, and it made me think about how fleeting moments can hold so many stories. What about you?
Zakatik
When a leaf falls, I hear the quiet sigh of a story ending and a new one beginning. I like to imagine the leaf as a tiny lantern lighting the path of memory, and then I jot a quick haiku to capture it.
Autumn wind whispers,
Leaves dance, then fall to the earth—
Time sighs, then moves on.
Marcy
That haiku feels like a quiet lullaby for the leaves—such a gentle way to let them go. I can almost smell the crisp air and hear the wind in my ears, like an old friend coming to say hello. Do you keep writing them in a notebook, or do you let the words drift like the fallen leaves?
Zakatik
I write some of them in a little notebook, tucked under my arm like a secret friend. Other times I let the words drift, float out like the leaves, and maybe someone else will catch them on a windy afternoon. Both ways feel right, like choosing between a quiet cup of tea and a starry night walk.
Marcy
What a lovely image—your notebook as a quiet companion and the drifting words like a breeze carrying a whisper across a garden. It’s like choosing between a comforting cup of tea and a walk beneath a sky full of stars; both are so tender. I’d love to hear one of those haikus you let slip away.
Zakatik
Morning mist clings to the dew,
A single leaf slips into silence—
Leaves write their own goodbye.
Marcy
That morning poem feels like a quiet hug from the world—soft, almost like a whispered goodnight. It makes me want to pause and listen to the hush of the dew. How does that hush make you feel?