Seven years

 haiku into the cosmos:  12/11/2017.  A stone for each year and one began the cycle.  Heart open to receive more.  

11/30/04

On this date beloved haiku adopted. With this kiss, Kodiak would be 56.  Kindred. Life continues. Stones like stories to be collected.  Memories, of course.  Shared.  

Light

Daybreak.  Ot evening. I turn on two lamps when winter evening arrives. Calms.  Almost candle-like.  Meditative.  I might put the kettle on. Will you stay for tea?  Time of the year to buy an amaryllis or two.   Memories. 

If I were to imagine

the eye of copper?  Or perhaps, the soul of copper.  

 

Why I love cities

especially SF!  Feet rewarded by the visually unexpected.  All in plain sight for all urban explorers.  

Can I catch a ride?

Patiently, waiting for a response.  Well, impatiently.  

Will the center hold?

 Stay tuned.  The world watches.

This is the first line of a novel.

Perhaps, being rewritten in this moment.   Is the book's title, "Home" or "Leaves?"

Somewhere

 I would like to be, especially in the coming months.

Something is being

finely crafted.  

Could it be the sentence to calm us 

the paragraph to root us in community?  

Will there be sparks?   

 

What is the confluence of color and texture

trying to tell me.  Why am I not listening?  What story wishes to unfold?   

 

Fall is full of color

and with a pond at the ready, most trees love a good reflection.  In fact, will stand on their head.  Headstands are not my thing?  

You?   

Beginning?

Or end?  

How many times have I missed seeing the subtle?

Bougainville reaching over clouds

 How does she do that?   

Fall

about ready to swirl.  Times to find those comfy sweaters.  Time for thick socks, a long walk and rustle some fallen leaves.  
 

No matter how colorful

 

sometimes a narrative is slow to reveal itself almost as if time decided to team-up with dream-world.    

On the creative breath of others

Today, I'm celebrating my mentor Diane diPrima.  Sipping tea and gratefully breathing. 

When everything is in a swirl

sip tea  observe  

This message is brought to you from Fritz:

"Friends, box selection should never be undertaken lightly; one must be open to the unexpected, to the adventure unfolding.  A box marked "priority mail" is generally a fine starting place.  If you have question, please email me.  I am quite an expert on boxes and the selection of."   

 

Fall can be blurry

 with the onset of rain and wind.  Neither a negative.  Just facts of time.  

Which is real?

Tree or reflection?  Does it matter?  When Autumn makes all the leaves adhere to gravity, then will we know?  

Not for a second

 think this is not moving.  Your breath's imagination -- wow!

Ok, is this a butterfly

or a moth?  Does the lantana care?  Perhaps, call it "A Collaboration in Yellows."  
 

Imagine living

in a space where the door is oval.  Except there is no door.  Or perhaps this is an open window without a screen, and the front door is somewhere else in the house?  Oval doors.  Oval windows.  Open without screens.  Fodder for a narrative?  Or dream?   
 

Happy 21st birthday to haiku

Gorgeous, preconscious imp.  haiku is 21 today and the cosmos is a more glorious place because of him.  RIP, imp.  Here's a haiku just for you:   https://patriciacarragon8.wordpress.com/sense-and-sensibility-haiku-2/   Thanks to Patricia Carragon for publishing this haiku for haiku in the inaugural issue of Sense and Sensibility.  

Tunnel of your imagination

Quick, is a pen, pencil, brush or a pair of scissors with you invite as your companion?  

(credit:  SFMOMA, Olafu Eliasson One-way color tunnel, 2007).  

 

Negative and colorful

A new kind of stained glass.  A new kind of story? What is standing tall?  What is ready to sail?

 

Trio of petite bridges

leading to the possibility of enormous adventures.  Perhaps more than three.  

If all are steps were created

with such color, ascending & descending.  

 

I am drawn to the combination of blue and green

So above.  So below.  And every layer in-between. Remember, this is someone's story we are watching coalesce.

Kissing your reflection

No, this isn't the Greek myth of Narcissus.  Simply, the  resident egret who loves the creek on the third and fifth holes poised for a meal.  Always wise to be elegant while dining.  Not a bit of hubris.  
 

Have you ever pondered

the difference between dried and desiccated?  Take your answer and apply to humans.  Then, jump off a precipe and apply your answer to time.  Perfect musings for a Saturday, don't you think? 

 

Three questions for a morning waiting for daybreak

 Where are we?  How did we get here?  Are we home?  

Neither a seaworthy vessel

 nor a road-worthy vessel.  But there is a history waiting to be written.  What treasures you find in small downtowns if you be on foot.   Thanks, Benicia.  

If a dahlia wore red earrings...

 So the novel begins and it wasn't even a stormy night.  

The wonders of paint

Never, never have I thought a seahorse would thrive on a wooden bench in an ocean-side cafe.  Well, the wonders of paint.  The gift of seeing.  Yes, she's the only seahorse in the cafe.  I checked!  

Come closer

The dahlia wishes to share her backstory with you.  Listen...

A pen always knows

 

how to reach the center of a line even when the subject is a circle.  Or a dahlia.  

Two sides of a coin

 stillness & reflection

and action.  In this case, flight in the making.

Indeed, egrets among the most elegant of all sentients.

  

A burst of joy

 in the unexpected, ordinary.  

What long toes you have!l

=

All sentients need water and food.  

The long wait is over.

 

Finally a nasturtium.  Who knew its guardian angel would be a snail?  

Miraculous light

 fringes grass, spilling art along the concrete.

House of poetry

 

only the sign remains.  Memories still standing especially for Nancy.  Both Keane and Wakeman.   

Spoons

& beads of sweetness.  Natural, of course.  A visual haiku.  

Calling all hybrids

cars, images, writing.  And also a poem.  

 

Each detail

 contributes to the whole.  Sound like the holy to me.  Holy as define by joy, of course.