A hermit in his hut writes haiku like petals that he casts into the river that begins in the folds of the mountain above him. The petals say nothing of his sorrow, and are lost in the currents, fogs, winds, dark. Time has no mercy, and some things need no mercy. The sinews of the river wrestle gold from the mountain. In the water, we find fear, love, patience, desperation and from these we make adornments for our ears.