It collapsed upon itself from so much complexity.

The leaves that formed the hedges, uniform in size and shape, decided to grow new veins and stippled variations.

Someone installed a mobile of paper cranes under the blue awning of sky.

One way traffic, all left turns.

X marks the spot where, a long time ago, a red sweater came unravelled.

Every once in a while a peacock flashes its jeweled fan; this is called flirting.

Persistence is rewarded by a flask of ginebra and a matadora’s muleta.

Danger lurks where you most expect it.

The soil is your nearest radio station: this is why they say Keep your ear to the ground.

In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.