The snowflakes have melted now. The forest drips. That false comfort zone of nostalgia has begun to fade, my thoughts of walking in the snowy gardens of the Japanese embassy with it, the smoking teriaki grill at the window of the large pagoda-like house pervading exotically through the trees.
That Zen garden was a pocket of Japan near the United Nations in Geneva, and it made all things Japanese just that little bit more attractive, like her kimono did.
“The snowflakes area symbol of our city,” she said. “It is also a symbol in haiku.”
In my forest where the snow twirled, settling on the evergreen pine trees, I tap the crumbling ice with my wooden staff, and resolve to write a haiku along a fallen pine, in Japanese characters. I take a careful step on a slippery stone, planting the staff into a small puddle. But it is not really this wooden hiking staff that keeps me from falling, I know.
part of my feng shui
keeping balance in nature