The phenomenon of white fur clouds

inside a lit petal.  Fleeting yet palpable.  An occurrence at liminal time.

As one year closes, one opens. So may your reading, may your writing be delicious.  May your soufflés hold their form & may you be hopeful.

Stars are seldom straight-forward;

centers frequently, fractal.

The same is true of the dish awaiting the meal or paper annunciating a poem.  Stars and centers.  Let's leave stripes to sort themselves.

Pine cone as tree; bulb as moon

And the tree rooted in water & anchored by blue glass beads.  The realms connect much as story webs people as community.  And we all know, the kitchen creates community -- one potato at a time. And where are the stars, you ask?  In each & every pen.

The window is never just a window

It's narrative, family history.  It's the past told in the vernacular.  The future waiting on the hill.  A recalled scent.  The smell of soup.  The word forgotten which still & is lingering.

When do we ever get to the center

and when do we know?  More to the point, why is that so important?  What's wrong with the edges?  The fringes?  Tonight the moon was cloud-frayed. And so especially enticing.  A meal for the senses. A poem, awaiting for the beloved.  

What captures our imagination?

Let's begin with stars and their symbolic shape.  And that symbolic shape's meaning. Recognizable and yet so personable.  Like a hand which is so like spoon.  Like feather which is so like a pen. Like a twig which, as we all know, is a pen.  Star, spoon & pen.  Let's hope.

Pollen is all-knowing

all-seeing.  Has its pulse on the longevity of beauty.  Like a family recipe preserved by using.  Like a pen treasuring in the using.

Something is being unwrapped

and that something it fresh & lovely.  Will be treated as treasure.  Perhaps something to adorn the kitchen.  Perhaps will inspire a haiku.

A secret of trees:

they love jewelry, especially that which sparkles & shimmers.  Kitchens love glasses which gleam.  Paper loves ink that saturates; that brings in night.  

Chimichurri -- the word itself it a mouthful of joy

Chimichurri -- Argentinian pesto. This time with a twist and not lemon.  Made with minced carrot tops.  Olive oil, rice vinegar, dried oregano and basil, fennel seed, garlic, black pepper, salt.  Toast a slice of baguette, spread goat cheese, top with chimichuri & pomegranate seeds.  Have you noticed that color is poem.  

What a heart of a nose

Amazing what a walk brings into focus.  Wooden yet so alive.  Makes me think of the aliveness in a good, well-used wooded spoon.  Or a pen. Both spoon & pens create food to inspire & nourish. And the best way to carve a smile.

Kitchen closed but will reopen

 haiku -- September 30, 2003 - December 11, 2017