storms of tweets
somehow Stella makes the storm more neighborly
sometimes it takes a storm to bake cookies
I ~ Stella
The storm becomes her name.
Or should it be Blanche?
Charm is 50% illusion.
I don’t want realism. I want magic!
Haven’t you ever ridden on that streetcar?
that bangs through the Quarter
Why, they told me to take a streetcar named Desire.
II ~ Nuances At Midnight
Yesterday a Spring walk.
Waking to a chiseled morning rides a wild mustang.
A dame that knows she’s good looking.
What kind of a queen do you think you are?
The real cork.
Marie Antoinette meets Blanche DuBois.
They eat cake. Where’s Stella?
She’s out there on the porch.
I hate dusting! I’m okay with housecleaning, and I hand wash dishes every day. However, when it comes to dusting, I usually find an excuse to back off like a kid being offered cod liver oil. I usually tend to be seduced by taking photos of dust mites, roses drying on their stems, pillows-on-fire or the dog who resignedly puts up with my in-her-face antics. Anything but dragging a rag over furniture. Thankfully I’m never too concerned with it until you can finger and linger a date on the countertop. All this as a segue into some “let’s capture-the-light-photos.”
lengthening light my muse calls time out!
I watched a rerun on public tv last night of the 1981 Simon and Garfunkel Concert In Central Park. Mayor Ed Koch introduced them. It brought on a huge wave of nostalgia. They looked so young and still seemingly in awe of their audience, time and place in history.
racing to the moon
wildflowers along the way
as time speeds up
a gentle nod to
time = distance
on the way to a star
and on line for a pizza