Tuesday, November 3, 2015


Such a brief bloom.  Just the time it took to savor morning tea.  The bloom spent, except in memory. This is the second and looks like the last of the cactus' blooms.  What joy to witness.  I'm thinking of all the sweet & savory bits to life that are brief. Many, many.  As many as words in many brief poems.  Or a table laden with tapas.

Meanwhile, in another room, haiku the beloved cat is sunning himself on the window sill behind the fruiting prickly pear. The window offers back his sweet face to me.

Reflections are brief gifts.  Time loves the circular.

1 comment:

  1. Blasphemous rejection of the old saw
    as they journey to the movie house

    first day of summer
    no ambiguity in her eyes

    (cp 457 from June 2010, Constellations)