Ever present

What is more present than weather or a cat?  Perhaps, both.  Freddy here taking in the patio and weighing in on fog.  

From

From dirt & the confluence of weather & hope comes what feeds us.  I don't know how I know this (perhaps mostly from feeling) that it is the combination of dirt, weather, hope, and our bodies which produce poems of the ripe.  As you might imagine, I'm eating a persimmon (fuyu, of course) as I write this.  And I am imagining.  Later, I shall walk.