Writing a true haiku
is finding a piece of yourself;
is panning for gold, searching the dark particles for something special, something shiny;
is searching all your life in every grassy area for that elusive
four leaf clover;
is walking a seashore studying the rocks and pebbles looking for an odd shape something pink or unusually smooth, and when you find that ocean rock or shell, picking it up and bringing it home where you glance at it from to time, forgetting where you found it, it is now so much a part of your days and being;
and the insight, the flash of recognition fades;
you go back to searching.