● 046 Sakura Drift · Kyoto
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petals caught
click / tap falling petals
“Beneath the blossoms —
no stranger here, no guest;
all are kin.”
after Issa · wind gentle

Spring lets go, all at once.

A pond garden under full bloom. Brush-stroke branches hold the top of the canvas while petals detach, tumble, ripple the pond, and pile into drifts. Your cursor is a spring breeze.

Somei Yoshino
A cross-bred cherry that blooms before leafing — whole avenues turn white-pink for days, then shed together.
Hanafubuki
The petal blizzard. Wind above 65% triggers it: fall rate triples and branches shake blossoms loose.
Pond mirror
Petals landing on water spawn expanding ripples. Skimming drags a ripple wake behind your cursor.
Drifts
Landed petals accumulate as ground drifts along the garden's lower edge, thickening with every storm.
Verse appendix · F — haiku composer

Write seventeen syllables.

Cycle each line until the poem lands. Tradition counts 5-7-5; the garden accepts honest attempts.

Old pond, spring rain
petals cross the lantern light
frogs hold their counsel
Syllables: 5 · 7 · 5 — a true haiku. The pond approves.
Kigo

The season word. Sakura means spring the way snow means winter — no explanation needed.

Kireji

The cutting word that splits the poem in two. In English, a dash often does the work.

Ma

Negative space. What the poem refuses to say is where the reader enters.