Not the usual breakfast.
By the way, pancakes aren't time-sensitive: breakfast, lunch and dinner.
Did you know, there is a lobster flapjack? Octopus flapjack? Who knew.
I imagine maple & butter best for the pancake variety of flatjacks. I imagine plapjack is the sound a poem makes when it wants the attention of the reader. Do you agree?
of conversation. Words are flowers & candles at a table. Both witness & honored guest celebrating the ripe. This chair is for you. I hope you enjoy a salad of tomatoes & figs & feta & arugula & black olives & olive oil & pepper & fresh mint & almonds & a dash of balsalmic. A conversation is a series of friendly and unexpected ampersands, don't you think.
Find the chair but do not sit upon.
Notice the white flowers nestling there.
That's feverfew. Medicinal.
But not culinary. Of well,
the word itself is poem.
Makes for dandy cut-flowers.
And, yes, that's a gigunda fennel in
foreground. Now, look at the back
fence to the right and you'll spot
the orange cherry tomato plant.
A wooden halo is your clue.
Ancipation is all consuming.
Sometimes we name "things" for all sorts of reasons.
All sorts of good & generous reasons.
Should you ask, her name is abundance.
And may your next meal, your next conversation,
the next thing you read, the next thing you write
make you know you are
Into the garden and waiting. Truth to tell these are cherry tomatoes waiting to become orange jewels. So, into the garden they go, with wooden support (much like a tree benefits from trunk) and the most precious of all -- water. Mulch, too -- a combination of so much.
I'm thinking that a poem is much like this cherry tomato plant. Waiting for dirt to deepen roots which are nourished by water & mulch. Pen & ink & memory.
What's on the menu for July 4th? Well, not these tomatoes. But much to savor with friends across the Bay.