Life

hanging in the balance.  Thus, the month ends.

 

Dry sailing

 is not the night sailing of dreams.  Much akin to writing poetry, I'd say. 

Is it a decision or indecision:

 crossing into the void.  I was there to witness the outcome as were Freddy & Fritz, the brother cats.  

Only one word captures this moment:

resolute

 

Light, one of the finest painters,

can take your breath away.  I'm grateful for breath's return.  

Yes, dear Eleanor,

carnations -- especially purple-tipped ones, love to draw. Especially with sumi ink.   This fact is not widely known.  And who you ask who is "dear Eleanor?"   Stay tuned.  Be watchful.  

Returning to a place,

I love:  Benicia.  Eighteen mile drive and a world apart.  There is magic and solace about lapping water.  Decay has its beauty and often holds its history tenderly.  
 

I'm counting two "screws"

Of course, one on the post.  The other?  I'm thinking of the flower on the succulent as affixing the sky.  What a beautiful day to hold on to.

Once upon a time

a burst of sunset met up with a fried-egg poppy, botanically known as matilija poppy.  The rest is unfolding.  
 

Tell me, how is elevation determined

in dreams?

Clouds

like the opening line of a novel.  Or perhaps the last.

 

Strange isn't it that sometimes nature can be summed up in one word:

majestic.

 

Do you know a better way to end the month of blogging

with fractal magic.  

What are these two beauties

 saying to each other.  Conversation is an art form; eavesdropping, an underrated activity.  

Some times it's just about beautiful people

 and a pooch named Izzy.  Should;d you ask the humans left to right Cheryl  and Tenaya. And a glimpse of Stacy.  

 

Have you noticed

how certain flowers -- colorful, indeed -- cannot be picked?  I find city walks are seedbeds for such thoughts.  Hopefully, Susan will concur.   

The oceans keep a watchful eye

on the kelp forests under foot.  We should do the same.  

Who knew a succulent

 could be a ribbon and host for rain drops which are nature's glitter.  Of course.  

Is there only one type of music

which can be played on a red piano.  

 

The first line of a novel

in the language of visual imagery.  

The afternoon lives of cats

Fritz with the first book which launched by reading career -- the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam,

 

and Freddy soaking up a deep stretch.  

Spires, poles, and a tower

lobbed off by fog.  

When SF invites sunshine

 the city and all its inhabitants including yellow-eyed poppies sparkle.  

Do you every wonder

what evening wishes to read?   

 

Some sacred places

 are a combination of the geographically-identifiable and the rooted in dreams.  

Let's celebrate

 the great succulent in the sky.  Let's honor its fractal nature.  

What does a bird know

of paradise?  

 

A solo dancer on a hill

Here's to a spot of dancing every day.  Here's to remembering Ann.  

 

All flowers are a center of light, don't you think?

Have you ever thought, the center of a morning glory is a similar to a petite flashlight?  

 

This is where memory helps

I missed the peak season for Puya.  I remember their otherworldly sacred showiness.  A terrestrial bromeliad, the Puya is related to the pineapple.  The family resemblance -- spikes. Should you ask, my Dad's nickname was "Spike."

I have a passion for the fried egg poppy

Showy, coquettish, with ruffles and a tease of pollen. A California wildflower.  Matilija poppy from the Indigenous Chumash.  

 

All trees by their nature

are beautiful.  This one I call the Goddess tree.  In optimum conditions and location, she can grow to enormous proportions.  She resides in the Ruth Bancroft Succulent Garden in Walnut Creek -- living treasure of a place.  

Sun-bather

with stride piano-fingers.  And toes.  

 

Snail, snail

Who is going to get the snail.  Would be Freddy but the snail is on the outside of the glass.  What do you think the snail's perspective might be?  (Nice paw action, Freddy).  

 

Finches

nest-building.  Up early and working in tandem.  

 

Beyond the word green

 there are drops.  Drops of water.  And magic.  

So the story goes

a stained glass window fell in love with an old oak tree.  The feeling was reciprocal.  

 

An oval table

 and a circular window share a great deal in common --a desire to share stories.  

Landscape is always layered

 and illumined by light -- or the lack of it.  

Do we need to have a name

for something in order to simply like it?  

 

Intention and focus are good traits.

 What is the object of the cats's rapture?   A charming petite finch in the yew tree.  

All stairs lead to....

 a vista, a landscape, a possibility of stories unfolding.  

A moment to reflect

 A trio of birds' perspective on landscape.  

Occasionally, it's a door

 that stops you in your tracks and you don't know if you are coming or going.  Please linger to see those two quail.  

Totem in unlikely places

The grey blue heron finds me while she is in flight; while she in the pavement; while she is on my golf ball marker.  

I have been and continue to be

a light watcher.   The mysterious wonder of light watching.  

Let me never be far from a crow

 or their murder.  Never.  Never.  

What if we all kept our noses to the slow

Curious Fritz encounters a snail on the other side of the glass.  To give the snail its full due: