Circadian

Plants and their ongoing circadian conversation.  And I thought it was only the moon which whispers words to me. I will pay extra attention when I feast on an arugula salad later today. 

Celestial succulent

One of my favorite succulents enhanced through the app Circular.  Isn't she downright celestial? What's celestial in the kitchen?  Salt, though I'm not sure why.  The smell of roasting garlic with tomatoes with a splash of olive oil and pepper.  Bread baking, for sure.

In poetry, what's celestial?  A listening audience -- that's a given.

Random thoughts on bottlebrush trees

I'm lucky to live in a neighborhood lined with bottlebrush trees.  For the first time this week, I looked -- really looked -- at the bark.  Another source of textured joy.   Perhaps, the photo above is what the bottlebrush sees as me walking by. 

Anyway, makes me wonder what else I'm not deeply observing.  The texture of carrots, subtle ridges of a Persian cucumber, paper-skin of a garlic bulb.  Wonder is the juice of haiku -- both poetry & feline.  And most certainly, Pantone should create a bottlebrush red.

What's the color of conversation?

Ah! the 3 C's -- conversation, cooking, community.

Here a simple nasturtium dreams of evening.  Enjoys a quiet self-conversation as light changes.  As nasturtium becomes evening.

Same can be said of a meal.  Of a poem.  Definitely, a community.  I'm remembering Sunday.  Thanks aplenty and gratitude for the SF Peace and Hope Fest at ANEW Gallery -- thanks to herchurch, Stacy Boorn, Elizabeth Hack, Steve Eulberg, Al Young, Erica Goss, Deborah K. Tash, Roxanne Worthington, Elaine Drew, Patrick Cahill, Nancy Wakeman, Carolyn WarmSun, Philip Lewenthal.  Thanks to the greatest artists an artist may encounter -- a listening & receptive audience.  That's conversation.  And what is a meal if it can't be shared.  Art, if unseen, unheard?

Back to conversation, OK?  I'm thinking conversation is the most layered, textured and exquisite form of living ekphrastically.

Feel free to weigh in on this.  Share a poem.  Share a recipe.  Share a mentor's quote.  Become evening.

Doorstop

Sometimes what makes the ordinary, unsophisticated object luminous and mysterious is a cat. Haiku (the gorgeous and precocious kitty above) has said, "I've got my eye on all the landscape, all the geometry needed.  And a little known fact, I'm the patron saint of doorstops."

What of poem and plate, you ask?  A poem is just resting in light.  A plate is the geometric anticipation of food.

Confessions from one who loves red

Nevertheless, I am drawn to graphite;  I gravitate to gray.  Gray is such a perhaps-color, don't you think?  Perhaps, this is why I have had numerous love affairs with the word "perhaps."  By the way, there is little if any "perhaps" in my liking of food.  On that subject, I'm decisive. And with poetry?  I can answer that in a blink:

there is no "perhaps" when she wears red shoes

Spring is a spiral

with eyes which taste. Irises are first-messengers of greening spiraling out of Spring.
Then, think of asparagus, spinach, fava beans.  Each with its own geometry.  And, yes, with its distinctive taste. Poems are like this, too -- full of taste, full of geometry.