What is being forged? Created?

Or simply, an afternoon cup of tea with spoon and the gift of reflection?  
 

The simple object

is beautiful.  Spoon.  Two rose petals. A small clump of nasturtium.  And the combination, the gathering, exquisite.  Nothing less that the intersection of story and stillness.   
 

The simple always holds story

is a landscape worthy of remembering.  Worthy of passing on. Worthy of stirring up a creative spirit. A simple trinity:  story, spoon, spirit/  

The bird always appears at this precise moment.

A dream has its own watch.

A spoon, its own rhythm.

A circle is nothing more

nothing less.  Remember this,

the next time you go 

walking

with no agenda

other than your feet

& your heart. 

Remember,

there are birds

at eye level --

wherever

that may be. 

As an object morphs,

do we?  A simple dried magnolia leaf in the evening on the patio becomes a precipice.  Or a sand dune.  Or a simple dried magnolia leaf because the object was always a precise.  The color like my favorite wooden spoon burnished by experience.  Who have I become?

Red glasses

What if every time she puts on her red glasses with the multi-colored sides, she invites a prose poem to splash across the page?  Will the spoon take offense?

Spoon

The Progression of Spoon

from hand
to pot
to lips
to mouth
to you
to your
back
as much
camera
as mirror
the pen
seeks
paper