Monday, July 31, 2017
is a simple box of cherry tomatoes as it dreams of being a large tomato. Or a peach. Or a pluot. Or having it's own plate on which to reside. Is this how one word relates to a page where a poem resides? How far is a poem from the ripe, you ask?
I'm smitten by the name. And the dusty green that always seems in motion. And the size of a mature tree is enough to make you giddy. I think of Calder and mobiles. I think of eucalyptus as grandmother trees. I think of oatmeal. I think of each leaf as a poem. I think of...
beautiful as a ripe peach. Or maybe a pluot? And the dry shall always dream of water. Which is to say, water is another media for reflection. What's for breakfast you ask? Pluots and feta with fresh herbs of a choosing, of course, With a side of reflection. Which is another way to say, poem.
Sunday, July 30, 2017
bringing back to balance. I'm thinking of cooking and heat & alchemy. I'm thinking of words and blank space and why I have an affinity for white dishes. And why I will never give up a love of red shoes. Or a line of poetry that smells of red....shoes.
By the way, who doesn't love beets, red peppers.....
Food for bees and hummingbirds. Eye-food for me. Amazing to watch a hummingbird hover and sip. Similar to reading a lucid writer -- well feed on the color & taste of words. Reminds me of roasted peaches with goat cheese. Nectar for all.