Haibun for the birth of humanity

A thought for Labour Day (May Day here). Frank Tassone’s dverse prompt yesterday.


Through all the years of Christendom back through the mists of Judaism, a woman’s only function on this earth was to reproduce. In some minds, it still is. Her lot has been pain and suffering with the ever-present fear of death at the end of it or the heartbreak of a dead child. The pain is softened now, and the fear of death has receded. But how many millennia of medical discoveries has it taken to ensure that labour is more likely than not to end in happiness?

small joys

the apple waiting to be plucked

sun on a sleeping cat

a child’s smile

on waking

May Day


Upon the hill a fire burns,

And people feast

The summer in.


Upon the hill the old year turns,

The winter beast

Flees from the din.


Upon the hill is where we learn

The olden ways, and not the least,

The path that’s followed by our kin.


Upon the hill is where I yearn,

To watch the sun rise in the east,

And feel its magic on my skin.


So burn, bright fire, magic blood,

Spill and sow for summer’s good,

And raise the grain, the bloom, the bud.