Bubble-up and ripple

I can't image Pantone assigning one color to water, can you?

So much depends on water.  Cooking, for instance.  So much is inspired by water.
Calligraphy, for sure.

Tea water bubbles up; writing ripples.  Life is sweet & richly wet.

Instances of portals:

windows

doors

doorsteps

paper

lists of all kinds

hands

of course,

the ear

&

recipes

&

dreams

& 

each

ripeness

spoken

Wonder-apped

This should be a word.  Those apps that startle, surprise, make us smile.  Do something we can't. Even though we can create wonder by stirring soup, writing a poem, walking down the street, talking to a friend.  Or even taking a bath with goo-gobs of bubbles.

For instance, this wonder-apped:

What is it?  A shower cap made luminous by the app, Circular.

Typerwriters have long memories

Homage, 1974, modified typewriter by Leopoldo Maier, Hess Winery Gallery

So do gifts.

My first memory of a typewriter.  It was red and flameless.  A Tom Thumb.  A gift from my mother's sister.  One of the most extraordinary gifts I received.  Others, include pencils engraved with my name.  Be aware of the gifts you give; the gifts you receive.

Recently, I was given a wooden spoon.   A treasure.  Treasures can be practical.

How are typewriters and spoons similiar?  They both are vehicles to stir, whether words or soup. Please sit down, a meal has been prepared for you.

Windows share two properties

Eyes

& roots

Eyes out
into the world.
Eyes into an interior.
And the same goes with roots.

Now think of root vegetables and meals which beg to be taken outside.
What does a window really see?
Do roots recognize flowers?  A plate its salad?  Paper anticipate a poem?
Go look out your favorite window.  Can you see how questions feed hunger?

Real is rooted in place

San Francisco is getting what is needs -- rain.  Rain again predicted today but right now, sun with assertive clouds.  This is the real in this place.  In NYC, my former real place, there's different perspective, a different feel.  No ambiguity.  Winter storm:  strident snow.  So I'm sending assertive yellow to my friends back East and through the country.  Not that I'm damning snow.

Each bloom is an egg yolk.
Each bloom, a haiku.

Oranges are a winter's blessing

Farmer's markets are fewer and leaner this time of year.  Neverthless, let's celebrate the orange -- it's color, taste, its jaunty spirit.

 Orange Salad Conversing with a Black Bird

sliced:
cara cara oranges
black and green olives
red onion

black pepper
red sorrel leaves
a drizzle of olive oil

And the poem is on the wings.

P.S.  The cara cara is related to Pantone 152.