As my grandmother always said,

"Child, pay attention to the shadows.  At all times.  Then decide if you turn left or right out the front door."   

From a pair of glasses to an intricate flower

 

Infrastructure

 

and the shadows they cast.  Shoring up the landscape although the "lock" seems open.  

Frozen in time --

labyrinth-like fingerprint.  Much to think about as the upright oaks in the field across the way spill shadows like runes.  

 

I wonder

 

Do poppies love their shadows as much as their petals.  Do we love our shadows as much as our sorrow?  

Shadows and light they siren

 Is the same story being told?  Of course, a good story has many scarves.  Some of them, floral.  

Observing faces, their shadows, and the plants they support.

 Downtown Pleasanton, CA.  

An evening of drama

Light on the wall and our imaginations flood with color.  Just like memory.  Suddenly, I wish to cook red beets.  Embrace red.  Embrace shadows.  

Shadow as new growth

succulents being experts at this.  What adventure will you accept today as it is more difficult to see shadows in the rain.  

 

Always

pay attention

to shadows

this is the great lesson

of Grandmother Spider

especially auspicious

on Tuesdays

Walking

 

and the shadows it creates.  
Not to mention the stories,
the imaginary friends.  
Those friends remembered. 
A few spilled leaves.

Black and beige

Shadows are sturdy in their flexibility to come & go without regret. Never linger too long. Slip in and out of time like the memory of a great meal. Like the slipping away of a line of poetry that just entered your eart.

Reflection is the narrative,

always has been.  Shadows, too, have gravitas.  Palpable as a fork & knife.  As a pen spilling shadows on a page.