The Gift of Nature is Marvelous

A Haibun

Summer Beauty. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt

With her flirtatious spirit, summer is nearly here, and the dog and I trot up the hills–pacing with matching breaths. I wait for her to catch up with me–her old limbs slowly bending in the direction of our journey. She is cautious but she is carefree. She looks to her right and to her left, stops to sniff the grass, then uses every thistle as her personal licking buddy. I know not of what she’ll find. I stand patiently waiting for her to join me once again.

The sun hasn’t fully awakened–its eyes not yet focused on our backs, so we walk toward the wind. I smile at my neighbors, nod a “Hello,” and gently pull Jernee closer to me. I take no chances. Some people love to approach dog owners, and usually, I am okay with company but the pandemic’s ongoing stay has me even more skeptical of allowing space. We circle the block, breathe in and breathe out, and welcome our home away from home. We finally made it.

a long morning walk
with my old girl by my side
escaping summer


Originally published via Similily on June 08, 2022.

They Depend on the Time They Don’t Have

A Haibun

Photo by Lelia Milaya via ReShot

Delores leaned into her son’s embrace. He’d been promoted to area manager of his engineering firm. The promotion came with a corner office with an exceptional view of the city, and a $25,000 per year increase. He’d worked hard for it–harder than most. 

The sacrifices he made never met his mother’s ears. The people he manipulated, the women he raped, and the old neighbors from which he stole. He lived in lost moments of time, pursuing what he wanted and never what he needed. He’d step on the backs of everyone to get where he was all over again.

And his beautiful, loving, and clueless mother could never, would ever know it.

An evil con-man
steps on the backs of others
breaks the moon in half


©2022 Tremaine L. Loadholt, Originally published via Simily.

Spring And Its Many Gifts

In Bloom. Photo by Tremaine L. Loadholt

The dog and I walk our path just as we do each morning–the gift of sun and a slight breeze await us. We breathe in the fresh air and breathe out the peace of another day beginning. In this part of the South, Spring greets us just as she should, but she has on her wings a thick strip of pollen to sprinkle everywhere as she sashays by. 

I am an allergy sufferer–one of 50 million in the United States. The culprits? Pollen and shellfish (when not eaten in moderation). As much as I love to feel the sun’s rays beam down on my skin, during the spring months, I suffer the worst. The dog–also not too keen on pollen, does her share of sneezing and coughing. While I take a Claritin-D every morning, I also do nasal spray, and eye drops, and I sometimes have to take two Benadryl at night if the pollen count has been extremely high during that day. 

I’m no stranger to Spring’s many gifts and I appreciate life awakening from the dead when she comes around. She lends us the beauty of sunny and longer days, the peace that can be found in birdsong, the cheerful laughter of children’s voices, beautiful blooms on trees and bushes, and wearing less clothing because of warmer temperatures.

But she can be vindictive, too.

It comes at a high cost when you’re an allergy sufferer. Spring can be your best friend or your worst enemy. I try to find the beauty in her without slashing away at her for the many days I struggle to breathe. I try to focus on the positive rather than the negative. I love the newness that surrounds me when she makes an entrance. 

At least I know, I’ll garner more photos to look back on when I need a quick pick-me-up.

Spring–dawn’s gift to us
comes at a high cost sometimes
yet we welcome her.


Originally published via Simily.

A World of Terror

Musical Selection: Sarah McLachlan|I Will Remember You

A Revised Haibun (for Chrissy)

I tell myself, I am glad you did not live to see this world as it unravels right before our eyes. Destruction is at every turn; children bombed, mothers, sons, families scrambling to leave home . . . the home they have always known. We would have talked about this — voiced our disdain for the evil of this world, yet we would have mentioned our gratefulness too. There is this gaping hole in my heart I have been struggling to fill, and the only thing I can do is write — write about you; about your smile, about your love, about the way you never bit your tongue.

All I can do is just write, and pray this hole fills itself with something — someone — anything else soon.

a piece of my heart
is buried in this cold world
my cousin is gone


©2022 Tremaine L. Loadholt, Originally published via Simily, revised version published in The Junction via Medium.

Sweet As Sugar

A Haibun, 2 Parts

Musical Selection: Eagles|I Can’t Tell You Why

Photo from ds_30 via Pixabay

She sits across from us — hair pinned up tightly in an aggravated bun. I have my hands on my lap. I am centered in my chair — immovable. She invites us in for tea, this will calm our nerves, she says. We sit quietly. She gathers the good china, readies the table, and prepares some Earl Grey. He spies me looking at her precariously. I give him a cautious wink — I nod slowly. He knows something is wrong. He says nothing.

“Your sugar cubes . . . One lump or two, Dears?” We look at each other before speaking. We both shout in unison, “Two, please!” She plasters a fake smile on her face then offers us a drink we’re scared to consume.

afraid to drink tea
something’s not right with our host
but we can’t be rude


We sip our tea slowly — breathing in and out as we swallow. She eyes us nosily. I sit back in my chair — rock steadily. The air in the room wolfs around us — strangles us into silence. She seems nice. She seems sweet as pie — sweet as honey — sweet as sugar. But she’s not. We know she’s not. We just can’t put our fingers on it. He takes a few more sips then his head lands on the table with a loud thud. “Teddy! Baby, wake up! Wake up!” I look at her, she’s still smiling — the same fake one from earlier. What has she done?

host for evening tea
is a killer in disguise
we both die that night


Originally published in The Weekly Knob via Medium.