Who doesn't love an olive

especially when a fanciful bird delivers such a tasty morsel.  Why flights of fancy.  Now, sit down with a cup of tea and imagine your imagination.  Avoid the pit.

The intersection of store bought and farmers market

is a simple box of cherry tomatoes as it dreams of being a large tomato.  Or a peach.  Or a pluot. Or having it's own plate on which to reside.  Is this how one word relates to a page where a poem resides?  How far is a poem from the ripe, you ask?

Eucalyptus

I'm smitten by the name.  And the dusty green that always seems in motion.  And the size of a mature tree is enough to make you giddy.  I think of Calder and mobiles.  I think of eucalyptus as grandmother trees.  I think of oatmeal.  I think of each leaf as a poem.  I think of...

A gift from the neighbor

beautiful as a ripe peach.  Or maybe a pluot?  And the dry shall always dream of water.  Which  is to say, water is another media for reflection.  What's for breakfast you ask? Pluots and feta with fresh herbs of a choosing, of course,  With a side of reflection.  Which is another way to say, poem.

@the blue umbrella

sometimes a phrase says it.
Sometimes, that memory of a favorite lunch.
Sometimes, the favorite word -- perhaps?
Sometimes you want to rest in the color of a particular
word.  Yes.

One foot in front....

walking is a meditation in imbalance -- one foot, off center, then the other,
bringing back to balance.  I'm thinking of cooking and heat & alchemy.  I'm thinking of words and blank space and why I have an affinity for white dishes.  And why I will never give up a love of red shoes.  Or a line of poetry that smells of red....shoes.
By the way, who doesn't love beets, red peppers.....

Attraction

Food for bees and hummingbirds.  Eye-food for me.  Amazing to watch a hummingbird hover and sip.  Similar to reading a lucid writer -- well feed on the color & taste of words.  Reminds me of roasted peaches with goat cheese.  Nectar for all.

Sometimes it's not the mountain that steals the show

It's not always a spoon that stirs the pot?
It's not always a favorite pen that
finishes a poem?
Sometimes. Sometimes not.

Allium & nightshade

When a simple allium and nightshade conspire to become a basket what will be contained?  What left out?  Much like composing a meal.  Or a poem. Just that -- shape & color.
Of course, taste, too.

The centrifugal force of baby eggplants

It's unlikely you've considered the centrifugal force of baby eggplants & tomatoes & olives & bulgar. But why not?  Or to change the direction of the question -- why am I considering this right now? I'm unsure but this I do know: words are gleefully centrifugal on a page.

P.S.  Aren't you smitten by the basil dark lady and the salad burnet on the edges of the top plate? And how do these two herbs flavor centrifugal force?

Eating ecologically

Goats R Us -- always a welcome sight.  Their website says a "grazing company."  I think poets are grazers -- diverse individuals in a creative community.  Grazing on words -- imagine that.

Mom, I said I wanted a chapeau not this irksome bonnet...

Three weeks -- you're joking!
For the second time in his almost 14-years, haiku has a head covering. This time it's a fetching blue cloth not that ecologically-iffy plastic cone.  Can't call him a cone-head this time around. Here's the backstory:  haiku had surgery for an ear-tear.  He's fine, healthy & impatient.  When he's not eating or miffed at his head-gear, he does want you to know he's grateful to the staff & Dr Ellis at Civic Feline in Walnut Creek (CA) -- a cat-only vet practice.