This fall I got a Japanese poncho and rain-pants and rubber boots and decided I would only walk to work. No more riding the bus. No more bicycle. Just me and the ghost of Santoka Taneda. We would take our time and notice things, thoughts that would become these pages. Rain, wind, leaves, apples, cold. I thought I would keep writing these into winter and spring, but this book is stuck in one season, it stopped with the snow. My 55th publication is a book of small poems with origami instructions.