Slow days:

"There is a bowl of flowers in your heart"

scope #1:

...you've never had a better chance to unify your divided mind than you have now; you will continue to be the beneficiary of unprecedented help from cosmic forces whenever you make concentrated efforts to coordinate your diverse desires. I urge you to invoke all your ingenuity as you seek out the magic that will make you a virtuoso of variety.

The One-Two Funk

How do you get uP
when you're feeling a little Low Down?

Not
S
O
o
o

L
O
w
,
but low.

This is no fun. My swirling while my brain stays put. Questions and questions and questions fill me up and I have no answers to let them out. Decisions have to take the place of answers, for now. And that's not so easy, either. Blech.

Dad as Green

I always thought of my Dad as green. Sometimes dark blue, but usually deep green. He's not a minty guy, or a parsley man. British racing green moves a bit too fast for him, and olive, though attractive, is too smooth. He's a tortoise shell green: the pace is perfect, the texture quite weathered, the hues marble-y mixed, and with a wink he retreats into the world he carries on his shoulders.

Laughing Pistachio Reds

Distinct from the blues,
I remember Babe laughing with
pistachio reds. Or with laughing
pistachio reds, as they are known.

Champagne-painted fingertips
coated in a fine scarlet dust,
quickly sifting the shells
from the nuts, if you know
what I mean (wink. She

was never one to tolerate nuts).
Her laughter floated above her head
while the action was low in the bowl,
on the table, crimson powder wafting.

Unfortunately, I never liked pistachios,
red or otherwise. We shared hard-boiled eggs.

My dad told me...

"Do not be afraid."