Secret Ingredients
Monks
an ancient copper bell
burnished by the history
of thousands of hands
–
a forest shrine-
autumn mist clings
to the hillside
Safe
lonely red roses
walked off from the outside by
a thicket of thorns
–
the sun
our children at play
in the back yard
Illusions
folding the laundry-
I struggle with the mundane
while fame eludes me
–
feeding the birds-
a passing peacock
opens his tail
| S | M | T | W | T | F | S |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| 1 | ||||||
| 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 |
| 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 |
| 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 |
| 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | |