For the dverse prompt. I am always unsure about haiku. Here’s the haibun about a childhood room.
The big bay window had three views across the valley and only one washed by the rain from the west. Hills rolled, green even in August, and on one stood a crumbling keep. We always looked for the castle on the hill. If clouds hid it from view, we would have rain, but on summer evenings it would be washed in gold, as the rooks settled in the ash trees.
sun sets on childhood
its rolling hills mist-hung—
a nightingale sings