The art of haiku
My mother tells me I turn Japanese when I meet her friend in the sleepy streets of Taradale. Her friend, a diminutive, black-haired woman is a company wife, marooned in a strange company. But she is strong, and shares her love of embroidery and quilt making with my mother, language less important when the hands are busy. I am 30 or 35, or maybe 40 years old, and yet I immediately go into role, bowing, covering my face with my hands, so unlike the Sandy that is bold and assertive. I chuckle to at myself, knowing that empathy and mirroring are part of my skill set. Ah, this blog is starting to take shape. Tiny Stories is for me, for you, for us. My stories, a channel for creativity, a chance to share. But also a learning place, a place to discover new things. The world is endless, the stories of others so rich and free. I have midnight musings, and Japan is on my mind ... Mastuo BashÅ is famous, the haiku his genre of choice. I search him out , and find hundred...