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.