And while you're at it, get me some coffee

Isn't good writing, writing that conveys your visual imagination, based in the ability to flesh out, in words, multiple details and concepts so that the reader can ''see'' it for themselves? I know that there is great creative subjectivity in what someone reads since, if I write about the color red you, as the reader, will ''see'' your version of red. If I write about a red fire engine and a red apple in the same paragraph, won't red be in 2 different tones in your visual thinking? Oh the beauty of words and the messages they can convey.....

I want to tell you about my computer. No doubt in your visual mind up pops a generic image of perhaps an "off-ivory" desk top or the dominating silver of a generic laptop. Now let me tell you about my gold lame carrying case, which I use to tote my desk top around the world so I can always have access to writing in my blog. Hmmm......doesn't make much sense , does it? A carrying case for a desk top? But the introductions of both "gold lame carrying case" and "tote my desk top around the world" brings in a whole new set of particulars that are hilarious, ridiculous and just plain bizarre. My point goes back to bringing alive pictures in the reader's mind when I write.

This is what I love about writing.

I was walking home from the BART train the other night and was pleasantly accosted by the smell of summer grass gone dry from no rain. It is a particular smell that is similar to fresh cut hay. It is warm and inviting, quintessential summer, golden colored, pleasant to imagine being in the neighbor's barn again, jumping into the fresh piles of loose hay. There are pigeons who are nesting in the rafters, dust particles lingering long in the shafts of sunlight that are breaking through the disjointed wall boards in certain places. I was young then and had no idea what would become of my life, but the hay-jumping had me enthralled and so nothing else seemed to matter.

The return of Fall brings me such pleasure. The bent and broken light from a sun much lower in the sky, the coolness of the moist air is reason to "long sleeve" it. The amber light around me is reflected in the sycamore leaves which have taken on their inevitable color change, the "celebration" in the air as the holidays are fast approaching, with their specific festive accouterments, colors, music and pleasures. The sight of pumpkins, liquidamber trees, 'dahlia imperialis', door and window decoration brings such satisfaction. Cycling through Golden Gate Park to see the seasonal effects of the distancing of the sun from our side of earth, coupled with the warmth that still lingers but is waning, gives me such pleasure. Can you be witness to it along with me?

Every year I drown in the onslaught of each season as it commences with its' particular sights, smells, sounds, light, flowers and moods. It is perhaps the saving grace of my having to deal with people. I like that I can recede into the naturalness of my surroundings, even in the heart of Downtown Wherever I find the pleasures of which I speak. I do not dislike nor not enjoy being around and serving people in my job, I just love to find myself disconnected and lost in the simplicity of nature's complex structures and processes. The way the birds come and go to and from Lake Merritt in Oakland, the native 'Sequoia sempervirens' aka California Redwoods around the lake in different light for each different season, the 'agaves' planted around the gardens and landscapes reflecting the light and giving my visual field a treat in greens and greys or yellow striping.

There is nothing better than those (im)perceptible changes as they slowly rise and take over for the season passing, making their changes known but quiet. I wake up one day and it is indeed Fall, with the cooler air, the colors changing, the sun is lower, the pear tree is ripe, the 'asclepias physocarpa' has its family jewels splitting open and revealing the black seeds with downy wind catchers spread out for the next breeze to carry it outward. The warmth of the sun is still prevalent but more delicious as it has to be sought out and enjoyed against a warmed wall or pooled in the garden for a brief period. The ripening gourds and pumpkins hang nicely on their vines and the last of the tomatoes are in need of picking.

When contemplating the Fall, Vivaldi's 'Four Seasons' Fall section comes to mind. There is a halting ambition in the chords of violin as it heralds the commencement of the "wind down" of the warmth of summer, moments of warmth and smooth transition, accompanied by darker moments to remind of the darker days ahead. The restive days of sleeping friends in the garden and the few hold outs who are at their best in the garden in winter. The transitions are celebratory, for what is not to be celebrated in the movement and changes of the seasons? For, without the end of Summer coming, how can the beauty of Fall be known? As Fall diminishes to make way for Winter, how can the process not be seen as incredible? And as Winter surrenders to Spring and Spring back to Summer, there is that eternal progressive beauty which I find continuously and it is good.