Unexpected

to come across such a wondrous patch.  Luscious clumps of daffodils.  It feels like a planned memorial.  Few other wonders blooming at this time.  Sacred.  Like a meal shared with a stranger. Like a stranger being touched by one of your poems.  Wondrous, indeed.  Hopeful, too.

Narrative without title

Is that possible?  Like a meal without food?  Like a poem never spoken, never danced?  No, this is a narrative sans title but with lots of flavor & flair.

Rain on the way or fashion statement?

No matter the weather, grey is always an upbeat color for dress.  Add a pinch of blue.  Consider this pepper.  Or salt.  With food, a white shallow bowl sirens food like nothing else. Consider squid ink pasta.  By the way, have you written poems with silver ink on black or charcoal paper? Quite dandy.  Somethings warrant repeating.

Present tense

Of all seasons, Spring is the one in present tense.  Immediate & unfolding.  Makes me think of fava beans.  Makes me want to read Chiyo-ni.

Unformed possibilities

That covers it all -- from meal to paper for poetry.  Yup not much else to say but it's important every once in a while to look up.  Stretch the neck.  If need be, squint.  Look deeply where the moon will be later.  Write that down.

Those secret & unlikely companionships

Who would think Delicata (squash) and tulips would be pals?  Well, just look at this photo; they are on the circle together.  Perhaps, not in the contours you are most familiar, but companions nevertheless.  Makes me think of unlikely companions in a dish.  I've been using fruit in unlikely ways --cold & cooked-- to salads, green and otherwise.  Now, I'm thinking, are there words which are unlikely companions?

Bark, paper & peeling paint

Trees have color so why shouldn't they have peeling paint? Besides, light splashes trees with color, and bark is amazing -- it's properties & tactile qualities.  I think it's from bark that my love of paper sprung.  And in the kitchen, you ask?  Cinnamon sticks, of course.

The language of winter

Here rain defines winter -- a healthy winter.  How does rain impact the next meal you make?  The next word put or removed from a poem?  By the way, what's the status of your rain gear?  Aren't you glad you didn't repurpose those red wellies.

3 winter berries

Yes, a pomegranate is a berry with 613 (or so) garnet seeds.  A paintbrush for fingers, cutting board & counter top.  Magical.  A bowl of seeds perfectly complements/compliments a salad.  Speaking of salad, what is a poem if not a pomegranate; if not a salad?

The red feather

in calligraphy.  It knows only verbs.  Imagine such a meal?  Such a poem?  Some women dress as if they are all verb; others perhaps, prepositions.  Now imagine shoes.  Red, of course.

The eye dreaming

of the sea and within modest walking distance, a park large enough to traverse three neighborhoods in a diverse city.  Look, the eye is intent; the sea will make much of the unconscious.  Look again, there is a bench of questionable design, but a bench nevertheless.  It is best to sit-out such happenings. Happy for you, if you packed a tuna fish sandwich, apple, a thermos of tea.  But if you didn't no worries, you never forget pen & paper, do you?

New Year is liquid, hopeful & mysterious

Much like this beautiful koi moving effortlessly (to me but not to the fish) through liquid memory. What flashy fins to dance in the New Year.  This beautiful koi and its kin reside at Oakland Art Museum.  A perfect place to take in some history, some beauty, some push back against the traditional, and always, always surprises.  Much like being in the kitchen.  Much like a few words forming an haiku.  Ah ha!