This is a golden shovel I wrote, inspired by a haiku that I read online. I can’t remember who wrote it, but it’s absolutely beautiful. It goes: Wearily she waves, The white flag of surrender, Cobwebbed butterfly. ——————— The day ends, stubbornly and wearily, Lost in thought, alone, she, Remembers love lost, as the ocean waves, Crash against the cliffs, beneath the, Moon’s judgmental gaze, stark and white, She stands, defeated, raising the flag, Of her own battles, her silent plea of, Along awaited surrender, To the night, her heart cobwebbed, Her spirit broken, like the fragile wings of a butterfly.

A splash of vibrant yellow, In the sky, a brave little butterfly, Its path uninterrupted, so, Blissfully oblivious to what, Endless dangers lie ahead, as if, The world is simple and kind, it, Embraces the air, as it glides, Unaware of the abyss, serenely over, The edge of reason, where the, Rest of the world proceeds with caution. But of, Such constraints, the butterfly knows naught, a, Spirit unbound, soaring ever so freely, right off the edge of a cliff.

This is a golden shovel I wrote, inspired by the haiku, ‘Over the Wintry’ By Natsume Sōseki. ———————— Skeletal remains of an ancient tree, defeated and hunched over, Branches, Like desperate hands,, grasping at the, Cold, biting air, a shroud of wintry, Desolation, where once lush greenery adorned the forest, Now, only the memory of leaves, a victory hollow, wins, Weave through barren boughs, a mournful howl, Each creak and groan a lonesome cry, and, A plea for the mercy of time, relentless in its cold rage, No birds to perch, no life to stir, with, Roots planted in the somber earth,no, Remnants of life, just brittle bones that leaves, have abandoned, to run, wild and free. A reminder of what was lost to, The indifference of the seasons. Yet, as they come and go, the tree stands firm, and the lonely wins still blow.

i stare at you your dainty musician’s fingers your sharp angular face your everlasting gaze through bright starry eyes

i found love maybe though it’s hard to tell perhaps our secluded heart still searches

i wonder i ponder i peruse the question of whether you like me back Unrequited.

And may these Efforts turn to worlds With the changes I Long to create And may I Be changed by the will Of those who make The better worlds. You Have brought your care And all your strength for Us, him, her, and them All those who are as Original as us, and as much Creators as You and I Would do

Frost’s sharp teeth close over the skin of our cheeks and we hurry through the half-world that is soaked in wintry dimness— we are aware of how the forest creeps closer in the night, its winds rushing ahead, carrying a keen that whips up into a spectral howl as, near-dead, the coyote drops its head and in a stupour stalks easy feline prey. The frigid rage of starvation has shattered its other instincts with an ice pick’s precision. We have no satisfaction to give the dark’s endless hunger. The leaves that rot beneath the snow are a sacrifice to the mercy of spring; a prayer to save us from the winter’s blow.

———- Based on

Over the wintry Forest, winds howl in rage With no leaves to blow.

by Natsume Sōseki

I envision a newer world a renewed world, connected I see in every life, the breathing, living gleefully - indulging in that thing we feel, I feel, you feel in that place inside that none can touch - The web exists. And every thread affects another. It's already so. And you - It's time for you to put a thread in. It's your turn.

Inspired by my haiku, "Nature."

Are thou art Sorrowful? Heed the blissful Morning Do not feel Hateful Feel as the sun is in the beautiful Afternoon Do not grow Despair Feel not Grotesque For the singing moon is with you at Nighttime

My mind is dominated by "what if" Options abound, yet only one path must I take. If there was a way I could know for sure, or at least quiet the wondering, calm down the beating of my heart, alter the fearful nature of my soul, my brain - Would I do it, and view the world anew? Enjoy a fresh perspective, with the courage to simply take the ride?

(Based on my haiku, "If Only")

“Over the Wintry” by Natsume Sōseki

Over the wintry

Forest, winds howl in rage

With no leaves to blow

When she returns to consciousness, she only wishes it were over.

“—just dropped like a rock. Oh my god what is wrong? Is something wrong with her? Call an ambulance. Someone call an ambulance right now and tell them the—“

She groans loudly and rolls over, but she can’t bring herself to open her eyes yet. Wouldn’t it be nice to just sleep forever, she thinks to herself. Wouldn’t it be comforting to just lay on the floor, let her body just turn cold and wintry?

The stress she’d been under lately had finally compounded into another episode. She often got lucky and simply passed out in her home, but today she wasn’t so lucky. She’d passed out at work no less, and now her coworkers were huddling over her, gossiping and calling for an ambulance she couldn’t afford. She clenched her fingers and felt the old shag carpet rug beneath her. The small fibers pressed into her palms, moss on the floor of an old forest.

“Don’t call an ambulance,” she said, and it came out as a low moan. All eyes turned to her and someone began to lift her before she protested. “I just need a minute,” but her words are ignored as her coworkers begin to fuss over her, their frets passing over her like westerly winds.

In the distance, the sound of an ambulance already howls.

“Let them in!”

Before she can protest again, she’s lifted onto a stretcher with her consent. She’s already coming to, and she hates the questions that she’s being asked. What day is it? What’s her name? When is her birthday? The inane questions, all while she’s now up and alert yet being forced into the ambulance is enough to send her into a rage.

One of the EMTs jabs a needle into her arm, suffusing her with something in an IV bag. It’s all unnecessary, she protests, but no one listens to her. She wonders if it’s not too late to escape, if there’s something she can knock these two over the heads with.

One of the EMTs tries to make conversation with her, jokingly asks her, “You come here often?“ He smiles and she glares at him, in no mood for humor. She’s already thinking about the insurance bill about to come her way for something so small. “I guess that’s a no.”

It’s a long time before they get her to the hospital and she’s admitted. It’s hours of her sitting in an uncomfortable bed with the needle jabbed in her arm, incorrectly placed so it pinches painfully. Her heart rate is too low, they tell her, and keep her for several more. When finally the registered nurse comes back in and tells her that her heart rate is low, but as there’s been no other causes for alarm, they can finally discharge her. She leaves.

She clenches her fists at her side when she’s in the parking lot, realizing she now has to call a cab to get her home. Another expense, for what? The cab driver pulls up, and she sighs when he turns on the meter. “Where to?”

She has him drop her off a mile from her place. Not because it costs less, but because she does have some control over her life, still. She can walk home, she thinks while she slams the car door shut. As he drives away and she stares after the rear end lights, she closes her eyes and screams, realizing she’s going to have to go into work tomorrow, to face everyone she’d embarrassed herself in front of. Tomorrow, she knows, is going to blow.