Another bee another time

Thanksgiving

Holidays always bring certain expectations and not enough time for the investment of such emotional withdrawals from that account. But again, the sun outside reminded me that without any respect to the account balance, life continues.

Bees carry on with the day's business of creating the sweet nectar of revenue while the bird of paradise grows into a tree towering over the house. So today, I remember that there were no promissary notes but merely promises for future deposits.

Pebbles @ Joe's

We were at the Getty yesterday and here's my humble attempt at Weston. The early morning fog started to clear and the sun warmed the air and the rocks below.

@ the Taft busyard

Rusting in the on the loading dock, it could easily been overlooked but for the noon sun hitting the blue and rusty spots.
I'm sure it was useful in its distant past.
But now it spends its time basking in the glorious sun.

Goodbyes

I've been missing him for a while now. It takes me a long time to say good-byes...maybe just titrating the sad empty-s over time.

Who's gonna keep me laughing?

Tulips in Paso Robles

There was an empty house on stilts on Vine Street in Paso. The grass was patchy and overgrown in some places, bricks were piled destined to be part of the chimney or fence.

Yet, the house too was a work in progress, her fences kept most strangers out while her foundation was reinforced. Her windows were boarded ensuring that her vulnerable interior was protected. Her exterior showed her age with her peeling paint interrupted with failing siding.

But there they were, bulbs that didn't know anything but that the air had turned cooler and the warmth of the sun lingered only in the morning just after it passed the front windows.

Morro Bay Mar2007

Oh my gosh, I couldn't believe I saw this in my viewfinder. I was hanging on for dear life, lest I fall into the harbor.



Then before I knew it, the sun was setting...

Sunflowers = Smiles on a stalk

I was coming home from San Luis Obispo on the 101 when out of the corner of my eye (I'm always tracking the sunset photo-ops) I saw a straw hat in a field of tall yellow flowers.

Most were un-bloomed, with tentacle-like projections protecting the yellow petals inside.

I offered the field worker a chilled water bottle and wandered inside the tall stalks looking for blooms that were picture ready.

I think I was in the very small field for about an hour and a half before the sunset.

Squishy fruit

We were harvesting fruit from the small trees in the front yard. Some were clearly not ready, hard and as green as the leaves around them. But some called to you, smelling of the promise of sweet and feeling of heavy give. And then there were others that bore the color of sweet but gave in too freely, one that was perhaps forgotten last season but stubbornly hangs on...We cut them off the tree with special attention not to mix them with the others.

Sometimes you run into the squishy fruit, continually taking energy from the one that gives rise to all the other sweet fruit. They must've once gloried in the sun, fleeting but passed the sweet and evading removal. My nose tasted the necrosing juice as my fingers validated the now almost parasitic hanger-on.

It's only through the experience of picking many fruit that you recognize the feel of the one stubbornly left behind, and forgive the guise --- when you have a squishy one, that this victory has no casualties. In fact, the victors are the blossoms that have yet to bloom.