Sunday, December 15, 2019
Bark reflects the seasons as dramatically as new buds, as snow. Holds both tenderly in balance. Much like simmering red sauce does with steaming pasta. And always like that pristine black notebook waiting for the first gestures of a poem -- bark & all.
Thursday, December 12, 2019
Tuesday, December 10, 2019
whatever you wish it to be and/or become, it will. You can feel it unfolding. Like tasting a favorite sauce after taking-in its delicious smell. Like seeing words coalesce on the page into meaning that surprises, that delights. The fresh dance of what is and what will become.
Friday, December 6, 2019
Thursday, December 5, 2019
Is there any difference? The distinction between red radishes is putting a fine point to finger food, don't you think? Perhaps this is a reintegration of a red fox? Or the first line of a poem that you will edit well into the morning? Only the red fox knows, and she's moved on out of rain's hearing. And furthermore, has no interest in haiku.
Monday, December 2, 2019
It's enough to simply like something. To stop, look, smile. Or in any order you wish. Don't fret, the name will come as surely as your hand will reach for the perfect spice to season the dish. Yes, just as a pen trusts ink. Now, I remember, the name is "persimmon."
Wednesday, November 27, 2019
Sometimes it's looking down between your feet that inspires, that tosses you into the cosmos. And you are gleeful & grateful. Tomorrow is the Day of Gratitude. The turkeys are strutting unafraid, oblivious. And that's another blessing.