Undoing knots

is easier with a buddy.  Or is this how fish think of trees as a conundrum?

Teeth,

 

Succulently speaking.

A great plume

is not only found on a hat.  Or a pen.  What grace.  

Neighborhood walk at sunset

Twenty one miles north east of San Francisco.  No bridge in sight unless you consider the arch of a flock of migrating Canada geese.  

Don't be alarmed when you discover

under the silkiness of a rose petal there is crackle waiting to happen.  Who should you tell?  
 

Winter's eye

has it's sight on frost, swirling snow, snapping branches.  This I know intimately yet choose to live in a place where winter is green-hilled.  Here, there may be frost but it's not the norm.  The icy cold does not linger.  Yet, the heavy morning sweater with its cozy collar is welcomed.  

 

Door and portal

to wonder.  As I wandered SF, how did I find myself?  

 

Do branches speak

with more nouns or more verbs?  Does the time of day influence a tree's lexicon.  Is color involved? 

 Or shadows?

 

Out of Season?

The daffodil or me?

 

Strutting

and in the egret's wake a liquid palette.  A visit by an egret is nothing less than elegant hope.  

 

Don't know to be happy or scared.

 Irises are blooming in the front yard.  It's January.  

A good ending leaves the door open

for a fine beginning.  So the year ended with a jumpstart on 2025 resolutions:  make a flatbread.  What's up for 2025, to know flatbreads as the palette of culinary innovation, community and adventure.  What's not to like?  Pull up a chair; conversation is on the menu.  Here's a napkin.