Spring does that to us -- every season. The Douglas iris is a petite gem. With strident pollen lines to smitten the most recalcitrant insect. Are there any recalcitrant insects when pollen is near? I think of paper & pen like pollen-painted petals. In that state of awe-waiting. And look-see, out of dried leaves what is possible. Reminds me olive oil & garlic & roasted carrots & freshly grated Parmesan cheese & a twist or three of black pepper. Sweetly sautéing.
How can thoughts disappear, if they are recorded in visible form? Do we make these thoughts to record brain synapses, do we record these thoughts to give them permanence, or is it just for pleasure, play, need?
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