Tuesday, June 18, 2019


Sometimes, the poisonous calls our name.  A ripening nightshade.  An act of benevolent nature. The name Whippersnapper says it all with gleefully anticipation.  All that remains is -- taste.  And the koan -- how many cherry tomatoes make a salad?

1 comment:

  1. I'm hearing something unusual in the street this morning--children on skateboards hammering the old cement, bargaining with fate that they will not crash into the bushes. How glee replaces concern when age falls backwards...yesterday seeing a ferris wheel being hammered together with bolts made me think of other times I would not have been afraid to try it. In the afternoon's last light, the children raced toward the danger, laughter mixed with fear, the most perfect recombinant fun.