Pincushion in the wild.

We know all too well that is being ripped apart.  Well, what is being mended? This pincushion is at the ready.  Ready for service.  
 

How a tulips sees itself.

 Meanwhile, have you ever contemplated the nape of a tulip.  Worthy of a pause. 

That time of year

The Puya -- sacred plant of the Andes -- is flowering.  At the tip of the flowers a drop of nectar so sweet.  Their jade flowers like wax. To come across a Puya is joyful.  
 

Two options

 Bearded iris seen through a fence or a Japanese scroll.  I'm going with the latter.  

Roses & baby's breath

Roses like paper poems and baby's breath like tiny suspended snowdrops.  Has dying ever been more tranquil, more beautiful.  All held by time.  

Tropical birds in unlikely places

On the side of a community swimming pool, a gaggle of birds-of-paradise.  Afar and close up.

 

Cherry blossoms and tree knuckles

The soft, the hard, the petite, the massive.  All in a blink.  

Rope

 and its fray.  I'd say, a fitting image of where we are (or aren't) in our country.  Let's hold on to kindness.  

There are certain flowers

for which a flood of memory washes over me.  Each and every time. I can't see a calla lily without hearing Ann's impersonating  A. Hepburn.  A blessed memory for sure.  The tulip is an added gift.  

Please don't expect a call

or to have your call returned in this lifetime.  In my lifetime, a lifetime of technological changes.  I can still hear the drop of a slim dime into the metal slot.  

Kindly note the tongue action

on my new best friend -- Bosco the pig.  Bosco hails from Haight Street, Alameda.  That's a right turn off Webster heading into town.  As the sign requests, please do not feed Bosco.  Urban areas  are full of delightful surprises.  Alameda's farmers market on Tuesday morning will not disappoint.  Lots to do, see, and explore on this island.  Besides Oakland's Chinatown awaits on the other side of the tube. Yes, Bosco has a facebook page.   
 

Nothing like worrying over

spilled tea.  Something soothing about fallen petals.  Perhaps, harkens back to Spring singing Autumn Leaves to the future.  The silkiness of tulip petals.  Of course, their hues beguile.