Spring isn't sheltering-in-place

Spring is being itself -- riotous with color, texture, shape, fragrance & attitude.  It's a good time to walk (6 feet apart), cook asparagus and other vegetal delights, and made petite poems the size of cherry blossoms.   I wonder a time when we won't immediately get the references to "sheltering-in-place" and "6 feet apart?"

A day with water & clouds

similar to a good book & soup for dinner.  Who can tell me, when I see a tree trunk, I want to reach for my pen?

Not to be confused with an empty parking lot

night
remains
the most
refined
still
voice

The ethereal is magical

and looming.  Truly, aren't clouds as structurally solid as trees, hill or even a poppy patch?  Or our imagination?  Or the memory of the first soup we tasted?  Or the sound of the last poem written?

Simplicity calms.

a cat purring
rice steaming
coffee brewing
bread baking
roasted potatoes w/rosemary
the silence of poppies, blooming
sufficient pen & paper
thank goodness
the list is endless

Isn't stained an interesting term for glass?

Stained glass.  Adding metallic salts to glass to release brilliant hues as well as metaphorical stories.  Back to stained glass; makes me think of preserved eggs.  That's a link & a leap.  Much like the unexpected.  Of course, I'm thinking of an haiku -- in color, of course.

I don't find monochromic wearisome.

For me black & white makes me think of print with its myriad of geometric configurations.  A taste for texture & shape.  Yea for Gutenberg.  Or ink etching letters into a poem.  There's a certain sublime coolness to the monochromic.  One might suggest, a kitchen at midnight.