It has been only weeks since I wrote my autumn haiku, and now the time came for me to write one for the winter, for while I sit in my warm and softly lit room, it snows outside. But wait! The trees still have some green leaves. The trees still have green leaves.

These days I wonder which one is better: to dream during the sleep and be reminded of those left aside, swept under the rug in the light of the day; or better not to dream at all. But if everyone dreams, is it possible to choose not to remember? If dreams are gates to our hidden desires and fears, the things we would prefer not to be reminded, the judgments we flee to make, maybe the question is whether one wants to know or not. The curious thing with dreams is that one does not have the choice to decide on that. It is just there, right in one's face. What does it say? It says, "the more you run the more I'll come after you." It is like a psycho postman who is obsessed with getting his mails delivered to the right person by the hand. Ok. I got my mail. So what's next? I don't know.