A dream of koi

in which I couldn't find any red shoes.  I have three pairs.  

Makes my mind giddy

and go in circles: sugar maples ablaze in December.  I want to cook up some spicy tomato sauce, roast red peppers, craft a few giddy one-line poems.  Wear a pair of my many red shoes.  

Now is not the time to change your mind

and decide you're more comfortable with everything in alignment.  That time has passed.  As you dear friend Eleanor would tell you, "Time is not rewindable.  Nor can too much salt be extracted from a dish." Put on your red shoes and go for a walk.  
 

Cryptic

Mystery and the anticipation of a mysterious message.  Written in the language of dreams, not to-do-lists.  Written on the inside of small stones which you gather as you walk your usual route.  Walking in your red shoes might lead to a fortuitous journey.  Yes, those red shoes.  

Twisted metal

Perhaps, from a fender of a red truck.  Twisted with intent.  Intentional & spontaneous as sculpture. Or a line of poetry that pops into your head as you lace up those stridently red shoes.  Then again, perhaps you were dreaming of beets.  

The minimal knows my nickname

and my passion for red shoes.

Reacquainted with pink

As a child, pink was of no interest and yet now, it swims gently toward your eyes.  I prefer pink radishes to red.  However, with poetry red always wins my favor especially if shoe, involved.  

The red feather

in calligraphy.  It knows only verbs.  Imagine such a meal?  Such a poem?  Some women dress as if they are all verb; others perhaps, prepositions.  Now imagine shoes.  Red, of course.

One foot in front....

walking is a meditation in imbalance -- one foot, off center, then the other,
bringing back to balance.  I'm thinking of cooking and heat & alchemy.  I'm thinking of words and blank space and why I have an affinity for white dishes.  And why I will never give up a love of red shoes.  Or a line of poetry that smells of red....shoes.
By the way, who doesn't love beets, red peppers.....

Confessions from one who loves red

Nevertheless, I am drawn to graphite;  I gravitate to gray.  Gray is such a perhaps-color, don't you think?  Perhaps, this is why I have had numerous love affairs with the word "perhaps."  By the way, there is little if any "perhaps" in my liking of food.  On that subject, I'm decisive. And with poetry?  I can answer that in a blink:

there is no "perhaps" when she wears red shoes