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|Robin and youngster in the nest and other sure signs of spring.|
|Finding vessels here on the road. This one must be filled with seafood gumbo.|
|A walk to Shippley donuts early this morning under a cloudless blue sky|
sky blue sky
|A shallow container formed by contraction|
"A wonderful bird is the Pelican.
His beak can hold more than his belly can..."
Dixon Lanier Merritt
|Touching the core|
|Glimpsing vastness suddenly amongst chaos, walking steadily to the studio intending to capture my insights in words, repeating fragments as mantras to help remember, getting there, quickly typing notes, misspellings, and turned phrases until the wave crests; then afterwords, sitting at a different table in front of a blank card, in the swirling energetic wake, I collect, as pencil lines, residue from the inspiration, the diaphanous strands too wispy to form letters.|
|As non-separate as two peas in a pod.|
|A fresh journey on uncharted thoughts|
Rounded into shape
glass is a bottle;
shattered on a tile floor,
just glass again.
|Earth is a vessel|
|The forests were made into ships|
|Sitting in awareness, peering through the veil|
|Empty bowl of emptiness|
The day when spring is undeniably
certain not to leave until summer.
|The overwhelming green of a wet spring - I mean, so green here.|