The nature of grasses

What was once -- moments ago -- green is now a healthy straw-brown hue. How a mild yellow sets it off.  You can hear the gears of growing.  Worms pushing aside dirt for grub.  You don't need to imagine a human in the seat of control.  All is not still here.  A meal and a poem stir.  Upheaval is imminent.

Never underestimate the power of a fragment

Loving the fragment is the finest way to celebrate the whole.  Because a fragment is whole.  And holy. Now, think of soil as fragment.  Think of carrots; consider their tops -- delicious feathery fragments waiting to be gathered into a whole dish of pesto.  This is to be savored on bread with fresh tomatoes while reading Sappho.

Fragments are your friends.

Where's the thread?

Or is this a rustic keyhole?
Or a goddess with arms above her head in the shape of a tear drop?
This for sure, nature is both thread and needle.  And keyhole.  For sure, goddesses abound among the trees and metaphors.
Now think of the seasonal -- fava beans and petite poems abounding in farmers markets.  Yum.

What unites a bearded iris with a red, sliced onion?

Self-reflection.

Sometimes the answer is one word.
Sometimes the question which needed to be answered wasn't asked.
So, why would you link iris & onion?

It's in seeing.  Perhaps, a subset of self-reflection.

Yes, water is circular.  As are dreams.  

Why do I notice only today

these beauties? Bearded irises of a hue I have not seen before. Shape defines the what; color offers the awe.  It's the same with a meal, really. Or a poem. Can't you just smell it?  Taste it?  And, of course, there's the dream's take-on it. The dream always has a take on things and it's usually the final word.

Anticipation is a state of tomorrow

because tomorrow our local farmers market opens for the season.  And I mean local -- as in walkable unless seasonal purchases too heavy with bounty.  Life can be sweet, can be healthy, can be non-toxic.  And life unfolds as roots dictate.  Soil -- believe in it.  Believe in the roots of words.  Love your Latin.

A few choice words in favor of the petite

Vegetables & poems unite.  Usually considered masculine, how extraordinarily feminine this carrot.  And the words?  As yet, undecided.  

Bread and a spread

and a star appears.  A carrot-top based chimichurri.  Perfect when the carrot greens shout "FRESH." And always, always good olive oil.  Have you noticed when a verb, a noun and a few of their friends show up on a page, a hue-ful poem might be ready to be served.  Might be ready to be savored.    

Succulent

in more than one way.  Actually -- a succulent remade most luscious by the spin of color & chance. And water's magic mirror. Is that a byproduct of editing?  Or the processing of pairing tasty leftovers?

If I were an eagle...

From the sliding door window, looking toward Mt Diablo.  If I were an eagle soaring, I would zoom in on the Mariposa Lily (or butterfly tulips).  Those showy Calochortus.  Three blood spots in the shape of hearts.  The winged feasts on beauty.

Which words are eagle-like?  Which like Mariposa lilies?  What beauty shall I taste today?

Resting against unexpected backdrops

The unexpected backdrop -- whether the time of day and the ensuing sky or a marimba as couch. Think of bright-hued peppers in a salad of predominate green.  Or words which surprise across pristine white sheets.  You get the idea.  Perhaps, resting is more active than the eye takes in.  Is the I ever at rest?  Oops, did I mean "eye?"

The image is complete but the writing of it

isn't.   Not yet in the editing phase.  More like a salad being composed and the final touches yet undiscovered.  In the doing, a poem like salad gets done.  Gets served.  Here the writing is on the inside of an eyelid -- sparks of light and luscious comforting graphite.  Trust me, on the plate (not shown) there will be hue-vibrant tomatoes & yellow peppers. Perhaps, pea shoots.