Discovering Beauty in Everyday Life

Once upon a time, in a far away country, there lived a small tree dwelling thimblefull. Now Thimblefull was happy enough, but the time came when that yearning angst set in. Thimblefull wanted out. Thimblefull wanted a romantic escapade. Thimblefull wanted freedom, Thimblefull wanted ….You know, that’s how angst is. Off Thimblefull went across the grassy place, under the fall leaves. After trudging the leafy path for awhile, Thumblefull came to a dark tunnel. “I’ll just crawl in here and wait for dinner”, he thought, not knowing where dinner had ever come from. Thimblefull was bright enough, but really not very smart. After an hour or so, when no tidbits showed up to eat, thimblefull became anxious and afraid. This had never happened before. It seemed like a good idea to whistle. "Whoooistle, whoooistle", said Thumblefull. (eltsiooohw, eltsiooohw), said Something. "What was that," said Thimblefull, and whistled again. "Whooistle?" (eltsio

Cleopatra's Needle and her reflecting tree are burnished by the late fall sun.

Late autumn:  leaving the Colorado San Louis Valley and heading towards Denver

Shy and demure, our pilot has again successfully landed the 1900 Beechcraft Plane at Denver International Airport.  I especially love the red step stool. 

He told me he'd be here by now!  I hope he isn't caught in that pressure inversion over the interstate.

It's noon in Crestone.   Mule Deer, protected by muted colors, pauses to observe an admirer, .

There’s a dry and powdery snow here, The trees on the mountains are sifted with it. Wintry sun reflects on the pale chamisa, Chamisa, sticky when a person gets too close. I packed a suitcase full of past promises I thought I couldn't do without, But I lost it through an inattentive baggage handler. What happened to those worn and threaded schemes? Where are the lamps that lit those epic trails, Casting away a conquest here a pipe-dream there? What happened to ‘I cannot live without you’? Change came stumbling down the road, trampling and singing.

Underneath the Denver International Space-Age Airport lurks the Great Lakes Airways Departure Lounge, with remnants of the day's departures. 

Airplane mirage at the edge of Denver International Airport

A longing came over me while walking in the dimming light.  Darkness falls too soon now, for those of us who may have lost our way, caught without a beacon. I looked up and  there it was, the reddest, reddest tree!   Oh, I've heard a far-fetched story of turning red to gain an edge in this survival battle.  But in my heart I know our tree put on it's reddest leaves to lead worn travellers home.  Darwin doesn't know everything.   West across the playing South fields

All is well on Fifth Avenue;  the Metropolitan Museum Signature fountains are working again, after many years!   

Let's trace these shadows to the waiting passions in the night, wide and awake, lit by lamps and a filling moon, swollen and aching in that persevering tide, shoving, pulsing, playing in the helpless heart, lifted by a cresting wave, tossed by love. Too much life, At last! (Remember those crunchy, thin-iced winter puddles with their frozen, yellowed leaves?)

It was a dream before the nightmare transpositions turned the fertile pictures into mental twisty bendy recollection. I lay there, frightened in a dry ditch. Head buried. Stray, betray, or stay decaying from the inside out; I have no choices; it’s as plain to see as the rank, red day old bruises tucked away inside me. Childhood stripping down the sheeted neurons, A half-made seeker stalking toward my hiding place. I hear the kicked can tumbling further down the rutted road, and I run, I run down towards Market Street, Just give me one more try, I’ll leave a dummy image in the quicksand mattress. I wake like a frozen mouse, listening. ‘Now’ pushes in amid the ragged cracks, While the fragrant nets of familiar evening pull me back. Tonight I stumbled in a drift of time.

There once was a person named Mandy Who discovered a liking for Brandy Well, Mandy met Sandy and happy as can be They nipped and they sipped it like candy! But Brandy liked Sandy better than Mandy And Mandy liked Brandy better than Sandy. What once was delicious changed over to vicious And now there’s no Mandy or Sandy.

A Golden Raintree!  Can't you imagine a  Pacific Island  village, painted by Gauguin?  What a name.   The Golden Rain Tree is an open-branched deciduous tree which reaches a height and width of up to 40 feet. This beautiful tree is practically immune to cold, heat, draught and wind. Hear the dry rattle of a papery fall lantern shaking out a seed?

Ex-Ordinary is preparing to enter fall with a flourish and a fancy yellow step. Sweet Ex is a brave one to stay this late in yellow, but Rusty is watching over from the left, while sacred Isis and Osiris shower blessings from the right.  Next to the Temple of Dendur, the Metropolitan Museum of Art

Master Choreographer Espiritu  creates arboreal Pas de Deux

I’m an innocent one, I contribute a lot! I don't cause any harm, I do not, I do not! It’s true I am sometimes found in a spot Where a person should never be caught. Caught? I said caught? That can’t be the right word I am never in places where wrong has occurred. I mind my own business as nice as can be, Why decorum and manners suit me to a “T”. Oh, it might look like I plant an occasional seed When I'm simply removing a troublesome weed! You might think that I’m digging a hole near a tree But I’m not! That person is simply not me. I’m a trained volunteer, and I maintain the peace, I may sample some soil or examine a spe- cies of  leaves, or a tree, or a volleyball game But I'm never, no never,  to blame!

Urban Volunteers gather leaf bags of flowers to deliver to the needy, while quality control officer pretends to be a simple bystander. Conservancy Garden, November 10

Thank goodness for all our blessing arrows tossed to this brave young sapling, for our hardy optimist stayed strong all through his second summer. Hardy is preparing for his winter sleep, as his fall sap sinks deep into his chilly roots for safekeeping.  South Reservoir Blockhouse, Eastside (2010 November)

Well, actually Cyprus is not bald yet.  But unlkike most conifers, the cyprus is deciduous as well, and it loses  it's needles in fall. Mid-park, mid-eighties, November http://forestry.about.com/od/conifers/tp/baldcypress.htm

Subway sun from 1st Avenue Balcony, 1pm Balcony dwellers 5th Avenue, 2:30 pm

See the softly colored circling leaves?  They're a telltale sign of a hollow. See how the trunk twists to move the hollow closer to the lovers on the path? There's a thought behind the turning. See the gnarly, shaggy trunk of bark, broken from the slow pirouetting eons? Yes, that's the final, crucial sign.  Mysterious is a Magic Tree, with caverned trunk and maple leaves and a hollow full of sorcery. Behind the Metropolitan Museum of Art, November

My dreams are illusive things, perhaps, but Is it possible that I have spelt it wrong? Could it really be elusive? You see, I can’t survive all hope abandoned, That fair and pretty dream of souls connecting Illuded by the faded warp woof of missed perceptions. No, I’ll have ‘elusive’, if you please. Give me that elusive just-around-the-corner love affair. Give me Plato’s shadowed cave of outside possibilities. Hell, yes! I’ll taste that fall leaf throwing its reflection. Harlem Meer, West Side, November

There is no place like a home in New York, with a car waiting to drive you to Central Park, and a yellow tree reminding us of a gentle, late summer shade. Of course, the most beautiful element in the photo is the yellow tree, and we all have that!

You know I love a half-and-half, and here's Sky--blue, grey and half fraught with clouds. Along the Reservoir Path