106/365 crayons

As you can see we're running out of good topics to write upon.  Suggestions welcome.

I have this distinct memory of being quite little, and sticking my crayons through the bars of a window fan, so there would be shavings that dropped to the window sill.  I think I ate them sometimes, too.  My mother would tell me I'm having pipe dreams to think such a thing, but I remember.
There was nothing better than getting the big box of 64 crayons.  Blue violet and red violet, yellow green, silver and gold.  These were meant for more than coloring books--these were meant for drawing your own pictures.
Sometimes I'd color a page with lots of different color, and then top it with black. Afterwars, taking a bobby-pin, I'd scrap the black of in various designs, revealing the color below.  That was a favorite thing to do.
Today I share coloring with my great nephew, whose favorite color is brown.
I should buy a box of 64, and play with it myself.

105/365 time

The longest two minutes have got to be when you get to the time clock and it isn't five just yet.  Or maybe when you're waiting for that pregnancy test to turn blue, or not.
I don't like waiting -- my time is precious, and I feel I shouldn't be made to wait for people.  Luckily, no one in my life is like that.  To the contrary, my sister always shows up ten to fifteen minutes before planned.
I've been alive for as long as I can remember, hahah.  The time goes very quickly with each year that passes by.  It is very different from when you're young, and feel you have al the time in the world.
Time waits for no one, so it is said, and a truth that is. 
I have lots of time on my hands that I don't fill productively.  I should be doing more than I am.  I have a book that needs a second draft, and since time waits for no one, I better get myself in gear.
Perhaps the longest two minutes was reading this!

blog awards

I received 3 lovely blog awards from Teresa, at Willow Creek Studio.  Please give her a visit.
Thanks Teresa!

I was supposed to list ten random things about myself, but since I have done that quite enough before for some other awards, I think I'll pass.  And I'm supposed to pass on the awards, too, to blogs that have inspired me.

the space between colors
Gipsy in the Parlour
Blissful-Bohemian
Auntie Mim's
The Walking Man
Termites of Sin
Calligraphy in the Landscape

 

104/365 age

Remember when you were a kid, and you would add the half to your age?  I'm seven and a half, you'd say, so anxious to get to eight.
When you're eighteen you're anxious to get to twenty-one, so you can go out with your friends to clubs, and drink.
In your thirty, each  year older gets a little scarier, as you inch towards forty.
I'm in my late fifties, and can't quite imagine myself being sixty, because I still feel so young in my head.  But my mother tells me she feels the same way in her head, and she's eighty five now.
I guess it doesn't really matter what age you are, as long as you approach it with grace.
I find that I am more invisible as I age.  People just don't notice you as much.  You kind of blend in with the landscape.
I'm not sorry for my tattoos now that I'm older - like people say you'll be.  I'm sure I'll wear them proudly when I'm seventy or eighty, if I should live so long.
I look at Logan, who is two years and eight months, and think how new he is.

103/365 museums

I think one of the coolest museums I've been to is the Smithsonian, in Washington DC.  At least it was when I was a kid.  Now, I can't even remember the things I saw then, only that I enjoyed it very much.
I've recently been to MOMA a couple of times.  Always good to see the Masters.  There was a photography exhibit of Henri Cartier Bresson, so I enjoyed that.  He captured street shots with finesse.  He's quoted to say "Aim well, shoot fast, and scram."
There was also another exhibit that day.  A woman sitting silently at a table while members of the audience came one by one to sit across from her.  Art?  Well, I don't get it, and it took up a big space that should've gone to a real artist.
I like the Museum of Natural History.  There's one in Brooklyn, but I haven't been there since I was a teenager.
I've never been to the Gugenheim museum with ts interesting swirly layout.  I hope to visit it some day.
There must be hundreds of museums down the city, both small and large.  An incredible amount of art.

*A free-write is a type of automatic writing, where you just go with your stream of consciousness non-stop. There's no thought to spelling or grammar, and no editing of words. Supposedly this opens the mind up to greater creativity. They can be 5, 10 or 20 minutes long. Suggestions for freewrites are always welcome. Visit Evie, with whom I freewrite, at the space between colors.

102/365 plants

I don't have any plants.  They do well for a short whie in my hands, but then fall away, due to neglect or not enough sunlight.
My friend has a green thumb and good sunlight.  Her plants flourish under her care.  She has grown things from seedlings that have developed into great big shapes of green.  One plant, in particular, is spreading all over -- it's called a Finger Plant, and it's quite odd, spreading out with green fingers al over the place.
What about nuclear plants.  A whole subjec altogether.  I'll steer clear of that one.
Anyway, I admire people who can keep plants and have them flourish.  I've often thought how nice it would be to have a greenhouse--surrounded by all those plants, blooming flowers, fragrant notss atop the sweet earth.



pencil/finger plant



Sanserveria and Aloe

101/365 seasons

I am fortunate enough to live ina place where there are four seasons, though I could do without summer, if truth be told.  We're in the middle of summer now, and it has been a bad one, with heat waves making it feel like 100F or more, and humidity through the roof.  Summer is not some happy vacation time for me, so basically it just sucks.
I love the Fall, when fresh air finally starts wafting through the open windows.  Having to don a sweater or jacket.  The trees turning crimson and yellow.  Children going back to school, and a bit of peace prevailing over the neighborhood.  It may well be the best time of the year.
Soon winter moves in.  People tend to move faster on the streets.  The holiday season.  More good cheer than usual from folks.  If we're lucky (we weren't last year) there'll be beautiful blankets of snow to behold.  Hard to get around in, but the quiet it brings is just lovely.
Slowly but surely, winter starts its thaw, and there's the surprising sight of crocus popping up from the ground.  There's a new bouquet on the air, and grass is beginning to grow.  My birthday comes again.


Summer



Winter



Fall

Spring

my 500th post!

This is my 500th post. I'd like to thank everybody who follows along with me, despite some oddly boring posts. The free writes have surely amped up the production of posts, and to tell you the truth, we don't know how we'll get to 365 without some more subjects popping into our heads. And that is a hard one. We've taken a lot of your suggestions, and used them, but many we just couldn't wrap our heads around.


I've really enjoyed this stretch of blogging, and I hope to continue for another 500 posts and more. Thank you all.

100/365 freewrite

So, here we are, doing another basic freewrite.  A supposed fluid stream of thoughts, when in fact I take great pauses.
I've done freewrites for stories.  Indeed, half my novel is a freewrite, having written over 75,000 words in one month's time.  No wonder it is hell to edit/revise.
This isn't really supposed to be about freewriting, per se, but I couldn't escape talking about them.
When we did the "morning pages", an exercise in  "The Artist's Way", it was basically a three page freewrite every day.  Wonder what all I had to say.  The Artist's Way -- never got through it entirely, I don't think.  Something about it bugged me.
It stormed today.  Good lightning and cracking thunder.  Rain came too.
I keep looking at the clock, hoping the ten minutes is up.  Observe the cat (Sapphire).  Thus are my mental pauses.

99/365 earth

I live upon Mother Earth, and hope I live well in accordance with what she needs from me.  She supplies so much - wonderful fruits and vegetables that spring from her bosom.  How fortunate are we.  I love the smell of earth in my hands when repotting plants.  It is so rich and fragrant.  I've only had a couple of chances at tending a garden, but each time I loved working so closely with the earth.
Out camping it is good to be so close to Mother Earth.  Sleeping upon her, being fed with magical dreams, if only you could remember.

summer sunset

This was chosen as an "approver's choice" on Weather Underground.

98/365 vision

My vision decreases every year; something tht I find very troubling.  So far I only wear glasses for reading and computer, but I am a step away from having to wear them all the time.
Vision.  In Chinese Medicine, the Liver meridian "opens" to the eye.  Disease can have to do with vision on mnay levels, both visual and concerning the vision of one's life.  I am not explaining it well, perhaps.
I had a dream vision once where Wolf came to me repeatedly, right in my face, and it was that night that I got my spirit name, Running Wolf.
Also, when I heard the voices in Cuyamaca that day, I "envisioned" two brothers up on a hill, talking.
I should perhaps give myself an acupuncture treatment in order to widen the scope of my life vision, because right now I don't have much of one.

97/365 shoes

I once did a parody of Desiderata, called Desideprada. , it was all about shoes.  I thouight it was pretty clever myself.
My friend's mother used to collect shoe ornamentals.  Porcelin shoes, shoes in all styles and colors.
You will never find more than a few pairs of shoes in my house.  I don't much like shoes.  The wideness o my foot prevents me from wearing the most stylish of shoes, and I am left with a poor selection.  Right now I own a pair of sandles, and  a pair of those rubbery things with holes in them, that I've forgotten the name of.
My sister used to be a shoe horse.  She liked strappy sandels, which looked great on her long lean legs.  But oft times she would try and squeeze into a 9, when she really was a 10.  Her feet are paying for it today.
I used to take pictures of my feet, sans shoes, wherever I went.  It was my thing---unlike shoes.

96/365 chains

I can't imagine being locked up in chains.  Heavy metal bearing down on you.  Certainly not a daisy chain.
But I am sure  I am locked by some of my own chains that prevent me from doing things.  Let's not get into that psychoanalysis right now.
Most of our chains must be in our mind, though. 
This is a hard topic to write upon.  Chains.  I have nothing to say about you.
OK, necklaces -- they are chains of sorts, and I used to love wearing necklaces (and rings)-- wouldn't be caught dead without it.  Now I go bare, and I don't quite know when that transition came -- perhaps when I was loading on the chains of the mind.
Chains.
I loved making paper chains when I was a kid.  Cutting out construction paper, and gluing a ring with that school paste, which tasted good.

95/365 angels

I'd like to think that there are angels among us.  Once, when my friend Carol and I were fairly lost in a bad part of town, looking for a lot where her car was towed to, we came upon a man and asked directions.  Follow me, he said, and we walked behind him.  Past Linden Blvd., which is always teeming with cars, but today not one was around.  There were no people around either.  He brought us to a spot where he directed us the rest of the way, and walked down the block.  I turned to say "God bless you.", and he was gone.  The traffic started up, and people were around then.  Later, when me and Carol got home, we started talking about the man.  She mentioned him wearing a baseball cap, and I had seen him in another type of hat--one that my father would have worn--indeed he was dressed as my father might be.  To her, he was dressed much like her late husband.  It was an odd set of events, and we decided we must've run into an angel that day.
I believe in angels, and I think their role in life is to come and help us.  So call upon the angels. They're waiting.

94/365 tarot

I spread out the Tarot cards, and chose three.  One to represent my current situation, and the others to show the past and the future.
In my present day card, I got the ten of wands, showing someone carrying a heavy load of wands, but still the wooden wands showed some new leaf growth, so that bode well for the person carrying the burden.
In the past was the nine of Wands.  More of a warrior spirit.
In the future it showed The Empress -- symbolically the mother.  Shows the possibility of giving birth to a whole new realm of creativity.
It has been a long time since reading the Tarot cards.  I am very good at it, unless I'm reading for myself, then I get a little stuck.  Sometimes I think I should read Tarot for money.  Maybe go to the local coffee shop, and try to start something there.  I don't know if I have the balls to do that.  It's an idea, though.
There are so many different types of Tarot decks.  I'm used to the old Rider-Waite deck, but sometimes reading other decks can be cool.  I have a woman's tarot deck.  The cards are round.  I don't much enjoy using them.




The Empress
(Aquarian Tarot)





*A free-write is a type of automatic writing, where you just go with your stream of consciousness non-stop. There's no thought to spelling or grammar, and no editing of words. Supposedly this opens the mind up to greater creativity. They can be 5, 10 or 20 minutes long. Suggestions for freewrites are always welcome. Visit Evie, with whom I freewrite, at the space between colors.

93/365 theater

I always enjoy going to the theater, but I never really have a desire to go.  I've seen very few plays.  I usually go with my mother, who is in a wheelchair, and she gets tickets to matinees for like seven dollars.  I know she'd like to go more.
We saw Dracula once, that was an excellent play, with nice special effects, if I remember well.
In college, I took a theater class--Not acting, but behind the scenes type of stuff.  I was wardrobe mistress.  I had no clue what I was supposed to be doing, really, and no one was telling me.  I quit that and did something else, long before opening night.  The play was "Streetcar Named Desire".
My most memorable play (or maybe it was an opera) was Jesus Christ Superstar, when it was first on Broadway.  I stood at the backstage door afterwards, and who opened the door, but Christ himself, and I just cried because I was so touched.
And then there are movie theaters, which no longer deserve the name because they are small box-like room, and no longer a majestic theater.
I remember them in all their glory -- spacious, with marble statues (at the Loew's Oriental), with wide marble stairs leading down to the spacious bathroom (at the RKO Dyker).  They were grand.

92/365 drugs

Behind my computer area, there is a shelf lined with all the drugs I take.  Stuff for hypertension, high cholesterol, GERD, depression, anxiety, asthma.  I don't know what the hell they all do to my system once they all get in there together.
But these drugs are necessary, and they level out things that weren't so level to begin with.
Then there are recreational drugs, as they call them.  I have done some of these when I was younger, and don't regret any of my experiences with them.  Today, I am still known to light up a joint now and then.  I don't really consider it a drug, just a really nice herb.
I have administered many drugs when I was a nurse.  Demerol shots in the ass to thankful recipients, valiums for the ones who can't sleep.  It seems a great deal of nursing is taken up with giving out drugs.  Such is the medical profession.  The only way they know how to treat disease.  Well, not the only way, but it's a major component.
I prefer a more holistic approach myself.

91/365 wrinkles

I am of an age when wrinkles are expected, but I don't really have that many.  My mother, who will be 85 this month, doesn't have that many either.  Mostly there is the sagging of the face and neck--the eyelids drooping a little more , the jowels more prominent, the hint of a waddle at your neck.
People who live out in Arizona and New Mexico seem to wrinkle a lot more from all the sun.
I think of that dog, the Shar Pei, whose wrinkles are tremendous.
I prefer to think of the lines at the corners of my eyes as laugh lines, not wrinkles.
This moment is just a wrinkle in time.
My clothes are kind of wrinkly.  I'm not one to iron that often, though I try to "press" things out when I fold them. Works good enough to my liking most of the time.
Wrinkles in the bed sheets often reveal a good night with a lot of romping in the hay, or a bad night revealing a restless night's sleep.

90/365 popcorn

I love popcorn sprinkled with salt and drenched in butter.  Your hands and mouth getting all greasy from the buttery goodness.
Popcorn is a staple at the movies, but nowadays you can spend more money at the concession stand than you did to get into the movies.
When I was in Finland, me and Jorma would share a bowl of popcorn almost every night, and watch t.v.  I'd melt the butter, pour on the salt.  One night he made the popcorn and used garlic powder instead of salt.  I promptly complained, which led Jorma to take the bowl of popcorn and dump it in the trash.  He was juvenile that way.  Getting sorely offended.  He did the same thing with a piece of fish I complained about, too.
I gave my mom a popcorn maker once.  She liked that a whole lot.
I like Orville Redenbaker's popcorn, or Paul Newman's.
In Coney Island they sell this pink popcorn that is so sweet and good.  It's sold out of a shop right outside the train station.
I also like Cracker Jacks, the popcorn with a caramel coating.  You don't see that in the stores too often these days, but when you do it's sold in bags, no boxes, and the prize inside always sucks.

89/365 brooklyn

This place where I have lived all my life, except for a few months here and threre,   in Manhattan, and Lapland, Finland.  It is as familiar as the back of my hand.  Its many neighborhoods, of which have have visited many when I worked as a review nurse in the field.  Lots of inner city hospitals.  Generally poor groups of people.  I think there is a lot of poverty in Brooklyn, and and at the same time, there are very many wealthy inhabitants.
If someone is visiting Brooklyn, you've got to take them to Coney Island, to eat Nathan's famous original hot dogs, and maybe take a ride on the Cyclone, if you're willing.
There's the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens for flower and plant lovers, and The Museum of Natural Historyy.
When I'm on the highway (well, when I had a car) I would always welcome seeing the Brooklyn sign, on my way back from somewhere.  I had made it home once again.
I never meant to stay in Brookyn all my life.  I thought I'd venture out to a few more states.  But everyone I know is here.  My family, my friends.  Well, some are at a distance, like Jim, but its always been that way.
The Brooklyn Bridge is a marvel to behold, and should definitely be on your lists of thing to see.  Including me!

Brooklyn Bridge

88/365 crystals

Ancient dwelling of frozen time.  Perhaps if you own a crystal, you were part of that time, too, and you've been reunited with a part of your long past.  Many stories and legends of sorts, about crystals, and their place in your life.  I've worked with crystals for 32 years, and had one really significant teacher, named, Oh Shinnah Fast Wolf.  I could see purple falling from a crystal she was infusing with color, and I was right on the money.
I've used crystals to take aways pain, both physical and mental and emotional.  Worked on Acupuncture points with and without needles.  Using the crystal to stimulate the needle, and indeed you could see the needle circling round as the crystal did.  That was confirmation of it's powerful energy field.
It is good to have a crystal that you can hold comfortably in your hand.  The crystal that is yours alone, and not to be used for healing, except of yourself.  Ultimately all healing is a healing of the self anyway. 
Look at the caverns and ledges in your crystals -- you were there.  Do you recognize anyone in there?  Everytime you look you'll see something new.

*A free-write is a type of automatic writing, where you just go with your stream of consciousness non-stop. There's no thought to spelling or grammar, and no editing of words. Supposedly this opens the mind up to greater creativity. They can be 5, 10 or 20 minutes long. Suggestions for freewrites are always welcome. Visit Evie, with whom I freewrite, at the space between colors.

87/365 concerts

My first concert was when I was ten years old.  The Beatles at Forest Hills Stadium in Queens, NY.  It's a rather intimate setting for a stadium.. not like Shea Stadium where I would see the Beatles again.  At both concerts I just remember crying because I was so happy, and the screams of all the fans drowned out any Beatles music at all.
Over the years I have been to many concerts -- seeing Neil Young is one of my favorites.  Saw him at The World, which was a small place in the city, and I was right in front of the stage.  That was the best.  He has the nicest legs, or at least looked that way in his patched up jeans.
I took Melissa to see her first concert at Carnegie Hall, to see Tracy Chapman.  We had 8th row center seats, on the floor. 
I've seen a couple of concerts at Carnegie Hall.  Once, way up in the seats off the balconey, to see Donovan, years after his time.
There were years when Melissa was a teenager, when I got her many concert tickets, and went along with her.  Skid Row opened for Aerosmith 3 nights over a week, and we were at each show.  Staying just for Skid Row on the 3rd night.

86/365 film

Watching old Super8 movie films, I remember stopping the motion, a bit too long and the bulb would burn the film right up there on the screen.  It was a no no to stop the motion like that.
I like watching an old black and white movie, where you can see the grain of the film before your eyes.
And then there is photo film--collectins light in bits and pieces to become a photography.  I remember wearing a black bag that went up like sleeves -- and opening the film beneath that black bag, and putting it in the canister to start the process of developing.

Army base, Brooklyn, NY.  35mm film developed and printed by me

85/365 motels

When I think of motels, I see out of the ways places deep in the countryside.  The Shady Rest Inn, and places with names like that.
My mother told me this funny thing once... about how motel said backward is "Let em"  Made me laugh.
I am most familiar with motel rooms up in the Catskill mountains.  Neat effeciency types.
I remember the gleaming pine of a motel I stayed at with my sister and niece, in New Mexico-- or was it
Durango, CO.  My memory fails me.

84/365 prayer

I believe one shoud conjure up a general prayer for oneself, and place it in your heart.  There you can experience the whole of it, and have only to look to your heart in order to be praying.  This always prayer can go on in the blink of an eye, at any time.
I have this prayer of the heart.  It should always include a prayer of thanks.  Whether you are praying to your God, or Goddes, or you higher self, prayers can have a place in your life, and in your heart.
I read a wonderful book once, called The Power of Prayer.  Good reading.  It lifted me up when I wa in a very dark place.
A lot of times on the internet, you'll see people asking for prayers, for themselves or for loved ones.  It's best to send out that prayer as soon as you read it, lest you forget.
My prayers are for my friends and family to be happy and whole, healthy, and to stay out of harm's way.  A prayer of thanks for getting me to this day in time.

83/365 ghosts

I have lived among ghosts, this much I know.  Me and Steve lived in a house that was haunted by its last inhabitants, it seems.  "Goldy", a man, and possibly his wife.  They were downright poltergeists, making sounds like ghosts in the movies --- woooo-- and just generally fooling around.  After being lost , my Bic lighters and Chapsticks would just fall from the middle of the room, suddenly there.  There would be the sound of large nails (like a bear) scratching wood throughout the night.
We didn't stay in that place very long.  Did a seance with the woman who lived in the first floor shortly before we all moved out.
Tried to convince the restless spirits to move on.  Certainly we were.

82/365 paper

What I'm writing on used to be called typing paper, but it's multi-purpose paper now.  It's just slightly too slippery to write upon comfortably.  I like a little more drag.  But maybe it's the pen.  Who knows?
I remember my father and mother  bemoaning the paper bill when they had the bakery.  Paper bags galore, cardboard boxes.  Paper.  Doiles, under each cake.
Photographic paper is kind of magical.  How it has to be developed in the dark, preserving its light.  The way it becomes a picture while bathing in water.  I still have a few sheets of 8x10's in some dark corner of my bedroom.
My friend is probably writing about papers she paints upon, no doubt more interesting than typing paper.
I admire handmade papers.  Something I've always thought of trying to do, but haven't yet.  It would be nice to make my own paper lantern.
Paper gowns at the drs office.  Cruel.

My I Ching book (Wilhelm ed.) covered with handmade paper

*A free-write is a type of automatic writing, where you just go with your stream of consciousness non-stop. There's no thought to spelling or grammar, and no editing of words. Supposedly this opens the mind up to greater creativity. They can be 5, 10 or 20 minutes long. Suggestions for freewrites are always welcome. Visit Evie, with whom I freewrite, at the space between colors.

81/365 the forest

I think of days long ao hanging out with my cousin Ed, and almost always taking a drive to a forested area where we would walk and talk.  It's a good environment for talking -- nature all around you bringing out your best energies.
In Lapland, it was an ocean of forest.  Evergreens and Birch, and others, as far as the eye could see.  I would walk the dogs every day in the forest.  It was a special time.
There's nothing like finding an opening beneath pine trees--all the pine needles spread like a rug on the ground.  A sweet cool spot in the middle of summer.
I would like to live in a forested place, with wildlife all around, and hawks hanging out in the trees.  Alas, I think I am stuck in Brooklyn for the rest of my days.
Just hopefully I have not walked the last of my forest days.  So necessary for the soul.

80/365 teas

These days I make do with Tetley or Lipton, when years ago I used to brew my own exotic blends that I mixed up myself, or bought Celestial Seasonings... Red Zinger and Sleepytime tea.
Patria, a secondary character in my novel, owns a tea shop.  She mixes special teas to help you sleep and dream.  She also reads the tea leaves.  She is a gypsy living in the mountains of Colorado.

"Patria", painted by evie tirado



*A free-write is a type of automatic writing, where you just go with your stream of consciousness non-stop. There's no thought to spelling or grammar, and no editing of words. Supposedly this opens the mind up to greater creativity. They can be 5, 10 or 20 minutes long. Suggestions for freewrites are always welcome. Visit Evie, with whom I freewrite, at the space between colors.



79/365 fame

When I was younger I often fantasized about a certain amount of fame entering my life.  Like sitting with Johnny Carson, and promoting the book I just wrote or something.  Making it to Johnny was big time.  I also imagined accepting the academy award for some such writing thing.  In  your twenties, possibilities loom large, and things like fame seem more attainable.  There is a certain genius that can occur in your twenties, I believe.  I think of Dylan and Neil Young producing such amazing music in those years.  Fame is a funny thing, though.  It can come under some lousy circumstances, also, not just fame and fortune.  You can become famous because you've tanned your face and body to a burnt crisp, and are known as the Tanning Mom.
You can keep fame.

78/365 cake

I was brought up around cake.  My father owned a bakery, and we lived right upstairs from it.  I know cake from the inside, where it's made, on huge slabs of wood, the workstation, where cakes are made.  The huge dough churning machines.  My father's hands, kneading dough.  The way he would decorate trays of cakes with speed and precision, as if the buttercreme bag was a gun.
I watched each time in awe when he would create buttercreme roses on a little pedestal, pushing out each delicate leaf, and decorating a wedding cake with dozens of these, white on white.
There was a huge barrel of sugar, with a scooper in there.  I remember fetching sugar from there for our own stuff upstairs.  We always had cake in the house.  That was a given.  My mother's sweet tooth, my father's penchant for it.  I remember his 7-layer cake being around a whole lot.  I can almost taste it now.  I always counted the layers.
I always had the best birthday cakes.  Mmm, birthday cake  -- can't you just taste it?
In my novel there is always chocolate cake or rhubarb pie available for consumption.

77/365 clouds

Clouds are part of my camera eye.  Always looking for great clouds.
Take time to contemplate a cloud, I always say.  It is a good thing to do.
I love dark looming clouds, where the sky might turn yellow, and you know that rain is on its way.  I have always had an affection towards rain clouds, since I was a kid.
The big puffy white ones are fun to look at, and see what you may see -- a dragon perhaps, or a face.  A bird in flight.
Flying above the clouds is a nice turnabout.  Looking down on a blanket of clouds.
In my novel, Octavia, the main character, is told she has "cloud eyes" -- the shapes of clouds in her irirses.  I've seen eyes like that.

76/365 the moon

A woman in her fertile years goes on "her moon" once a month.  The synchronicity with moon energy is evident all around us.  In women.  In the ocean tides.  The moon has a heavy energy, not to be toyed with, lest you think yourself wise enough to work with moon energy.
Now, being past those fertile years, I might have a better or clearer idea of what pure moon energy is.  But I wax poetic.
Nothing like a fat ol' moon hanging in the sky.  Brings out your inner howl.
I love being upstate in the woods, and being able to make my way around because of moonlight. 
Moonlight Sonata.  Being ove the moon in love.
"To the moon, Alice." like Ralph would always say.