What a tree remembers

of a red winged blackbird.  How sky hugs a tree.  How a Red-Veined Darter or Nomad sees the one it loves.  Bows & butterflies, too.  A feeling of cherries. The fanciful is necessary now.  Bring it inside, put it on the table, commit it to paper.

What rushes by

seems to go faster when skies are grayed and grass appears lusher.  And trees are locks of hair
hanging low.  Isn't "hanging low" an amazing phrase?   Apt for our time.  What's for lunch?  What's the title of the next poem?

Natural altars

alter the heart, feed the spirit, house the spirits.  These magnificent beings create poems & are poems themselves.  Also, trees inspire plants to be cooked, eaten & praised.  Trees are organic nurturers, too.

Delights of the petite

and their two guardians.

Joy in the unexpected.

Fragile, fleeting with a life force to inspire.  Tenacious, for sure.  Like the seasonal whether wild berries or petite poems.  Time harvests as and where she wishes.

Inside looking outward

and outside looking inward

Very much what the ripe does seasonally.  Very much what a poem wishes for itself, too.  The kitty is the arbiter of truth.

Kale and company

Vibrancy helps during a pandemic whether it's Spring being Spring or a strawberry thanking Balsamic vinegar for jazzing it up a bit.  Salty blue cheese, walnuts, mandarin oranges, and mildly sautéed kale.  Olive oil, a given.  Perhaps not a traditional breakfast but a breakfast indeed.  Some poems are like this breakfast -- vibrant words on a page taking a clue or comfort from its community.