Some bells ring to a different timbre

Silence is a blessed parcel of time.  A gift of the journey inward.  Like the meditation of cooking.  Or writing one word then the next not knowing when a period might manifest.  

Not what but whom

If we padlock the cooks...
If we padlock the artists...

Subtly in drama

Something are meant to be vibrant and some with a softer lens.  Flowers are prime examples as they speak with light.  When cooking, consider the light each ingredient offers.  When writing, consider releasing the light on the page.  Of course, reflections are a library in-and-of themselves.

Autocorrect "blogging"

to "belonging."  Computer programs aren't soulless, are they?  Think of a feather about to embark on another leg (or leaf) of its journey.  Now consider the pit of a peach as a heart.  Or consider a blank page as the canvas for conversing.  FYI:  the nickname for this bush is "the breath of heaven."

Everything wants

to be touched.  To make contact.  Even at the points.  So whole cloth is spun even by its parts. Look, too, for the beginning of stars.  Others may see fields of crops with water sources within reach.  Does it matter.  Know this:  there can be food & words enough to share for all.

A signal to stop

to brake can bring you closer.  An invitation for a deeper reflection.  When you were first learning to read, you knew this.  Reminders along the way are to be encouraged.  Consider, a favorite family dish.  Or the first poet who spoke to you personally.  Go ahead, make that dish; read that poet.  Out loud, of course.

Unadorned

exquisitely
vibrant
quivers
quickens
startles
the breath
& gives it
back

the beauty
the eyes
take in
feed us
give us
words
for a life