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That Secret Place I used to have a special place. My own secret place where electricity filled the air and magic was still possible. I was walking through my neighborhood one day when I stumbled on it. On the main street that led into the neighborhood, there was a small runoff creek that ran under the road at the bottom of a hill. I had passed it every time I came home, but I had never noticed it before. Perhaps that was the magic of this place. There was a little concrete railing along the side, perfect to sit on and look down at the creek. Overhead was a tall mimosa tree, the kind with the pink and white thistle-like blooms, casting broken shade over the area. I didn't know at the time that it was called a mimosa; I had never seen a tree with blooms like that before. They were small and fragile, yet beautiful. The creek was shallow and clear and you could see seve
Your ScentBreathing in deeplyHolding it there, savoring,Exhale with a smile.
Ode to the English HaikuThe English languageWasting many syllablesEnglish haiku bad.