A fiesta in broad daylight

Hope is festive.
So let's wear it.
Let's eat colorful food.
Let's write with rainbow ink.

Peek-a-boo

February is the peek-a-boo month.  

Persimmons gone and English peas not yet.

Sunsets & sunrises are plentiful.

Valentine's Day, waits in the wings

& hopefully a haiku, too.  

Sisters

Rocker & prayer shawl.  Full of holes for the soul, for the story, for the retelling of light, for the coming of dark.  For the next bowl of homemade soup, for orally publishing a poem.  Rock on in gratitude, sister, for the shortest month arrives.  [Thanks, Linda, for the hand-made prayer shawl.]

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.

Forming & dissolving

in equal measure
with equal intention
& somewhere
within hearing
the seesaw
stilled
as each
month
comes
to closing
the next opening
the same true
with a meal
with the next
scattered
gestures
penning
air

Velvet makes everything appear

suspended, as an artifact, as a piece of cherished jewelry.   Any or all.  Consider a wooden spoon left on the counter.  Consider a single word on a page.  

Curiosity

To me, this would be the eye of curiosity looking inward, looking outward.  Perhaps, water is involved.  Definitely, wings & a fine dusting of light. and a spot of red. Thinking about which food & which words will feed curiosity, is curious itself.  With soft eyes of a cat, for sure.