Cuckoo Call

Cuckoo Call

Midori paced the floor of her room, her tiny barefoot feet sliding over the tatami mats. She felt a deep squeezing sensation in her heart, a pain so heavy that she felt faint. She sighed. Why did Prince Kitaro favor Suki? Just the other night he had promised her his love in the plum garden. She could still see him in her mind: the two of them holding hands as they stood together and stared at the setting sun; the Prince whispering sweet words in her ear, telling  her how much he loved her; that no beauty in the Imperial Court was as wonderful as her. Midori sighed again and shook her head. Was it all a dream? But no, it could not be. There, on her desk, was a tanka written by the Prince himself, in his fine bold script. He was such a fine poet, the Prince, truly magnificent in his verse--and a fine lover as well. 

With a dull ache in her chest, Midori walked over to her desk and read the tanka. A tear streamed down her cheek as she devoured his words, looking for any clues in his message. She felt like her heart had turned to glass--the pain hurt so much. Suddenly, she broke into a fit of wild sobbing. She threw down the poem and rushed to her bed, pressing her face down on her pillow as deep sobs and moans rocked her body.

"What should I do?" She thought in a fit of despair. She could not bear to lose the man she loved so much.

As she mourned her fate and the cruelty of life, she heard a bird chirping outside. She tried to ignore the bird, but it continued its incessant chatter. A flush of resentment filled her face and her cheeks reddened. She pursed her lips and brushed her tears away as she got to her feet. She crept to the sliding door and opened it, looking out for the source of the sound. And then, she saw it. A cuckoo sitting on the branch of a cherry blossom tree. As she stared at it, a sudden flicker of life crept into her red, tear stained eyes. A faint smile lighted her face as she watched the bird. She knew then what she had to do.

Spring sunrise in the cherry blossom garden.

Soft pink petals blow in the breeze.

Old winter clings to the sakura branches,

But the cuckoo sings her song.

Melt The Ice In Your Life

desert sand

on my feet

jagged ice

Life is full of many trials. They cut into your feet like broken, jagged ice. The pain hurts you, but there are important lessons to be learned.

Every trial is a test. A test of success or failure. While success is always desired, failure can teach you more about yourself. The trick is to be patient. Your life is filled with pain and suffering. It is unavoidable. What you can do is to learn from your mistakes. Failure in itself is not bad, as long as you make an effort to correct your faults. By doing this, you enrich your life and the world around you. Think of Thomas Edison and his famous light bulb experiment. It was his dream to provide the world with electricity. Did he give up after his first failure? No! He persisted in his efforts, trying again and again. He failed hundreds of times before he had his breakthrough. Because of his determination, homes all over the world are lighted with his invention.

You must do the same. Whenever you have a failure that crushes your spirit, think of the light bulb. The bright light you see is patience and determination. They are your friends and allies in the war of life. Make use of them, and do not give up. One failure of yours will teach you more about yourself than a hundred successes. Embrace this idea, and learn from it. Make it a part of your life. Your feet may be cut to ribbons from the sharp ice, but you will stand unbroken at the end of the finish line.

Lady Red

Lady Red

A great orange fireball rises over a meadow, as red-breasted robins chirp their morning song. And I walk among these sweet singers, listening as their melody weaves an enchantment over me. They sing like the finest choir girls, performing a cantata greater than Bach ever wrote. These heavenly strains fill my soul with God's grandeur, and I tremble as I press a hand over my beating heart. The singing increases, growing in power and purity as the sun rises higher into the air, filling the land with light. A warmth floods my body as I hear their song, leaving me breathless.

From the far side of the meadow, a figure wrapped in a cloak of scarlet slowly approaches. A wild thrill courses through me. Is it an angel? Biting my lip, I hold a hand over my eyes and stare as the scarlet figure closes the distance between us. The figure is silent a moment, then slender fingers pull down the hood. A smiling, grey eyed feminine face greets my eyes. A wave of recognition overtakes me. My heart feels like it will burst as I gaze upon this angelic beauty. With a cry, I leap into her waiting arms.

sunlight

on my face

Spring rain

I remember the first time

you caressed my cheek

The Jungle

The Jungle

Vale trudges through the jungle, swinging at the branches in front of her with a machete. Sweat soaks through her khaki shirt, and she pauses to tie up her matted black hair into a ponytail. The heavy musk smell of the jungle invades her nostrils, and Vale almost gags. It reminds her of one of her ex-boyfriends cheap colognes. As she muses on this, sweat drips down into her blue eyes, blinding her. Muttering, she wipes the sweat away with the palm of her hand and wipes it on her khaki shorts. Her throat feels like a desert. Licking her parched lips, she drops her machete and reaches for the steel grey canteen slung around her slender waist. Unhooking it from her belt, she twists the top off and brings the canteen to her dried lips, guzzling the water down in gulps. The cool, clear liquid rushes down her throat like a waterfall.

As she drinks, she feels a sharp sting on her neck. Wincing, she slaps her hand there, then brings it before her eyes. On her sweaty palm is a smashed mosquito--its broken body shows tiny spots of blood. Her blood. Vale frowns.

"I hate those little blood suckers." She mutters to herself.

Vale twists the top back on the canteen, and puts it back on her belt. She picks up the machete from the ground and looks around, her eyes scanning the trees. Her ears ring with the screeching of little monkeys high in the branches. Hordes of mosquitoes assault her ears with their insistent buzzing. Again she slaps her neck and cheeks with her left hand, trying to chase them off. She sighs and shakes her head.

" I didn't believe Patrick when he told me what to expect out here. But now I do". She pauses and a faint smile creeps up her face.

"It really is a jungle out here." She said.

an old map

a lost city

in the jungle

Spring Dreams

Spring Dreams

Imagine yourself sitting in a wooden boat. You are in the middle of a river. Wearied from a long day of rowing, you set your paddles to the side and stare up at the night sky. A cool breeze blows through your hair, and you smile at its soft touch. For a moment, you close your eyes and breathe in the night air. As you breathe, you smell the sweet scent of Spring flowers. Their perfume waters your eyes and makes you feel dizzy--a kind of euphoria fills your body. Opening your eyes, you once again look up and stare at the sky. Before you is a canvas of creation, painted in all the wonderful colors of nature. An inky blackness fills the heavens, and the stars shine like fireflies; a multitude of them form in clusters like celestial flowers in a garden. Their brightness dazzles your eyes, and you feel a deep longing within you-- a kind of hypnotic pull that tugs at your heart. You feel yourself drifting away as your eyelids close and your head droops to your chest. As the images fade, your last thought are the stars of fireflies.

sitting in my boat

I stare at the shining stars

fireflies in the night