On December 7, I discovered this gorgeous bloom hidden behind the palm fronds and giant philodendron leaves in the strip of garden between my house and studio.

Another air view of snow.

To mountains

The back porch went from a light dusting to a heavy icing,

How Art Finds You

Some force all around us brings art into our world,
arranges it in leaf patterns or drops politely pearled
on grass blades after rainstorms or on leaves blown to the gutter
in accidental patterns that create  spontaneous clutter.
If they appointed art police and gave them all the duty
of curtailing the world’s art––all its grace and beauty,
to lock away the artists for superficial sin,
every night the the world would simply create art again.
It would mold its beauty from the shadows, from the dust,
to gather it around us as it seems it must.
It would blow it into wrinkles in the corners and crevasses,
crust snow onto branches and into mountain passes.
All these lovely forms imposed on all that we have known
are art descending on our world from where it has been blown.