flower petals on my feet, pretty pink from the cotton candy pink cherry blossoms blowing like snow on a december morning. they catch my attention - remind me to walk softly - careful of crushing the life under my feet. ant soldiers march with fierce determination - teeming throngs hauling bread crumbs tossed casually from last night's supper - bravely avoiding the footfalls of giants. their cities are organized - their work relentless - the beings smaller than a tear carrying loads easily - or at least never giving up. simple lives - work - eat - work - eat - and try not to be washed away by the innocent thoughtless or carefully aimed spray of the long green water hose.

flower petals that took a year to grow - secretly tucked away on brown twigs outside my bedroom window last winter - concealed - the appearance of stillness fooling us into believing in death and endings and silence. but there is no end. motion stops - almost - energy flowing so slowly it cannot be seen - flowing nonetheless - causing life to continue - always with bursts of movement as the bud appears - and frantic quickening as the flower fractures into full bloom with breath-catching, stop and stare beauty. the petals drift without effort -blanketing the grass beneath the tree with a carpet of pink - resting undisturbed until big feet with painted toenails and bunions trample the velvet softness to brown - beauty overlooked by constant motion.

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water, the sky on a clear day, my daughter's eyes, the living room couch, the way i feel when i miss my family, the spirit of calm spiritual awareness and artistic personality. my favorite color, the one i wear most and still love on my wedding china - the color i want to paint my kitchen to perfectly set off the adobe of the brick wall and terra cotta tile and bordeaux counter top.

not muddy or soft or country muted - not the baby boy or sickeningly sweet kind - but the clean color of a clear autumn sky with no pollution or fog - no muddy cloudiness. the kind that is electric and energizing and clear to the bottom in bermuda. the color of my aquamarine earrings - just cleaned - when i have a tan. paul newman's eyes - johnny and olivia's eyes against their summertime white blond hair. old fashioned hydrangea blossoms in full fresh firmness.

blue - the color i want to paint in a breathtaking painting of birds soaring and light pouring in and serenity filling me to the brim - overflowing like a waterfall in the jungle.

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trees - magnificent and solid - branch after sturdy branch offering a stepladder to the sky. seasons change - flowers wither - leaves die before our eyes. but the tree is resolute - eternally solid and elegant - facing harsh winds that rip leaves and crack branches - it remains unwavering. unplanned openings allow the family of chipmunks to make a safe home - straining branches hold firm as the nest is built twig by twig to shelter baby sparrows - cradled with mouths open to receive nourishment - new shoots of tender green offer life to hungry babies in the forest. to produce exquisite fruit year after year, never tiring - to present beauty in every season - from the golden green of early spring to the lush fullness of summer fruit to the autumn reds and yellows - never apologizing for the changes - never lessening from season to season. even standing in stark resplendence with no shelter to soften the elements - no respite from cold and ice - standing tall and silent and composed - never failing to follow the light.