My Birth Day

I’ve always loved my birthday being the 12th of November – that number, that name, beautiful in my ears. When, in my romantic teens, sweet Johnny Mathis sang The Twelfth of Never, I secretly claimed it as mine, with the private meaning that I would live forever. (Never mind the logic – I was creating my own.) In Australia, November is late Spring, warming up to expansive Summer but still leavened by breezes and cooler evenings. This year – just a few days ago – I spent my 77th birthday with a congenial friend, cruising on a boat on a tree-lined river, the weather just warm enough. Then we nourished ourselves with a concert culminating in stirring flamenco, a sunset light show projected on the water, and a colourful lantern parade after dark. In late afternoon a wild thunderstorm exploded right overhead – but we were indoors enjoying Devonshire tea just then, and it hit and ran. It only added excitement.

Spring rain

gushes down windows

we can't see through


Linked to dVerse Haibun Monday #25: You say it's your birthday?