Amid metal and sun

something is grabbing attention.  Something spins.  Something comes forward.  But what is receding at this time?  I want to cook something with betacarotene.  Lots of it.  Roasted carrot hummus dip.  Perhaps a poem to accompany.  

It is a holiday, after all.

 Something should float today.  Yes, colorful.  Something with joy as its ballast.  It's a stretch, I know.

Not your usual cherry tomato

Not the usual garden.  Perhaps, best to keep quarantined though quite striking, don't you think?

Scurry

Some words are perfect even if they aren't spoken everyday.  But when they are spoken, they send forth a visual.  A gesture to being in two places at the same time.  Like a spoon dipping into sauce.  A pen approaching paper.  A scurrying of light. 

Whatever is happening, it looks hopeful

 

At the center of these times are four letters:  HOPE.  Swirling inward and outward.  No separation.  The world's mirror is not static.  

Vessels for gestures

 

Glass gladly holds reflections.  Sky is a vessel for clouds. A sauce coats a spoon.  Paper soaks up ink. And above all, the hand open contains everything.     

The Great Pause

 

Somewhere, there is precise name for this phenomenon, but it escapes me.  It's not a simple noun -- pen or spoon.  More viscous than liquid.