A March haibun for the dverse prompt.
Wind blows, bends the trees, still leafless but greening or white with blossom, roars in the chimney and rattles shutters. On the meadow’s edge, the hares race and the deer rest sniffing the scents of new life coming. Clouds bowl on the back of the west wind, sky washed pale blue, fresh as the salt sea, and the trailing threads of geese and cranes gone a-viking shout their joyful homecoming songs.
foam beaten by the wind
spring tide running high