I keep returning to this place.

Benicia, of course.  The water.  The contrast of a vibrant town and rust and decay.  Of course, there are landscape that I return to in dreams.  That's another blog.  

Please go ahead

 Name this.  I've been trying all morning.  

What the crow dreams of

Nothing else to say.

 

A city is a geometry lesson

Angle upon angle.  Explicit and implicit.

Heart

 at daybreak.  A mountain adds gravitas.  

Anticipation

 A key theme for many writers.  And for all readers.  Here's to the union of writer and reader.  

Sometimes the memory

of a robust weekend breakfast can get you through a few meetings.  P.S.  Who doesn't love tomatoes and grapes with the drizzle of basil olive oil.  What you don't see, you can still taste.  

 

I am reminded of Wicked

For good.  Interesting to see an imagine in the energy of a flower and hear music.  That's all to the good.  

Ah, if I were a bee

I'd make a buzz to this oleander.  I variety I have not encountered.  What a delicious center.  

Season of the gourd

When the air changes from summer to the hint of fall, I look for gourds in the shape of birds.  Lucky me, I have a bird-bath of these mythic creatures.  
 

Which is tethered?

Leaf or reflection?  Stones make great canvases don't you think?  

 

Do trees have a longing

for the first day of school?  We know trees are seasonally-smart and possess the wisdom to embrace change.

Clear view of sunset

with a looming sense of poppies on the horizon.  Tell me, are you just waking up or are you beginning to dream.  The first line of a novel is waiting to hear from you.   

Night and light --

including solar -- are fine, collaborative painters.  

 

Sunset striking Mt Diablo

 One can hope for the best -- again.  Probably a good idea to skip the evening news.  

Of course,

Cohen's "Bird on a Wire" comes to mind.  I'm thinking of this dove as a dangling particle in a much too cumbersome sentence.  
 

Separation

Mind the spines.  The fruit is so luscious, worth the risk of being impaled.  

 

At night the stars come out

to greet the moon.  All is well.  Or seemingly so.

 

These are no roses

 Do not smell them.  However, from a measured distance they are so easy to fall in love with.  

Time always

 an exquisite painter.

A beautiful blue triangle

 sharing space with a living concrete wall.  The life force astonishes as does an azure sky.  

A quiet moment:

nothing like it.

 

The gift of an evening walk

 unexpected -- the brains of tree stump.

The large and the small inhabit

the same landscape.  A black-headed sparrow on the lawn bowling court.  Mind you, the sparrow is louder

 

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.