Willow magic

Sometimes, it's not the river which runs through.  What runs through everything is light.  And the absence of.  Beyond, another tree patiently defines distance.  Fills it with the assurance of an alphabet.  For aren't roots, alphabetic.  Aren't roots a kind of earth-soup?  

The word which doesn't come to mind

Modesty.  Modesty in flowers especially fried egg poppies.  Here the petals are shading the spent. If we had the life-force & innate intelligence of flowers, would we need our 26-word alphabet?Would we need spoons & knives in addition to our roots?

The color reminds me of a creamsicle

Remember them?  Cold sweetness on a stick.  These Banksia ashbyri are glorious and from the eyes' point of view, command the succulent landscape.  Like a pot of simmering soup engulfs the kitchen.  Like just the right word --no matter its size or hue -- enlivens the ear.  Yes, words are hue-full.

Fades to the left

and not a golf game.  What this is, isn't as important as the space it carves, creates, celebrates. Beings are flying upwards.  If there were a kitchen, it would be steam making its own heaven.  If if were the alphabet, it would be words on a swell trajectory.  Mindfully & inimally beautiful, of course.

Curves & verticals

and for good measure stars even when the sun burns and the moon appears a silvery orb.  It's all been charted before you were born and after you flow into the cosmos.  By the way, hazard a guess as to what's eaten for breakfast in the cosmos and/or what language is bartered.  Is there only one shared word for "amazement?"

Light burnishes

the rivet holding the copper table as if the finest meal is about to be prepared.  As when now I can't find words or analogy to express this one-time, had-to-be-there beauty.  Beauty is of the moment. Blink.  

Unlikely

is the one-word answer for why I love walking.  On every walk no matter the time nor the place, I encounter the unlikely but believable.  To celebrate a living detail is good life.  Akin to sharing a meal or finding words (or having them find you) which inspire.  Gratitude is naming the unlikely as believable.

What can hold water

does and creates its own kingdom where everything which enters, belongs.  Think of the kitchen during the ripest season.  The counter laden with fresh produce, ripe fruit.  Cheeses, of course.  Perhaps, the leaf is a dish or plate.  Of course, dishes & plates are palettes for words.  What did you just write?  

Stained glass windows

aren't exclusive to churches.  With light & lens can be an everyday occurrence.  Look how everything connects; take comfort much as you do with light coming into the kitchen.  Or how a favorite necklace delights your throat sometimes offering the tongue new recipes for words.

Hexagon

and what supports it?  Night's hands & a memory of sky.  Remember, colors are memories' gestures as much as taste.   As much as a pronouncement of nouns & verbs which as we all know is an international cuisine.

Whippersnapper

Sometimes, the poisonous calls our name.  A ripening nightshade.  An act of benevolent nature. The name Whippersnapper says it all with gleefully anticipation.  All that remains is -- taste.  And the koan -- how many cherry tomatoes make a salad?

When a red thread is involved

language is music and music is language.  At the center, an invisible spoon quietly stirs all the word-gestures of the day.  And night.