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Dec 2017
Standing at the edge of a pulsing highway, thumb extended, a lighthouse beacon under an early sky, raining hues of blue. A meadowlark stops to chirp, waiting for a ride on the next gentle breeze to somewhere. Grass whispers to the pavement. Gravel crunches under foot. Speeding cars drift slowly by on this never-ending road to nowhere, leaving their noxious gases floating, polluting the stillness of the morning air. Getting from here to there is a gas.

license plates fade
into the horizon...
dusty shoes
This is my first attempt at Haibun. Critique welcome and thanks for reading. Changed the haiku after original posting.
Richard Grahn
Written by
Richard Grahn  58/M/Chicago
(58/M/Chicago)   
290
   Jim Davis and Lure Pot
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