Wheels or bulbs?

These wheels remind me of spoons set deeply in a drawer of many spoons, of many knives.  Like a poem which is really 5 or 7 poems when pen separates the bulbs.  Gestures really. Whether Spring comes from wheels or bulbs, may she come.

Spiraling to center

Perhaps it's a meal coming together with the lush bounty of the season with intriguing parings of spices & herbs?  Or paper inviting just those apt mix of words to mend or upend and please the ears.  Palpable.  Pick up a spoon; pick up a pen:  just get out of your own way.

Sometimes it's not the mountain that steals the show

It's not always a spoon that stirs the pot?
It's not always a favorite pen that
finishes a poem?
Sometimes. Sometimes not.