It is no secret that I love poetry. I love the words, I love the rhythms, I love how sounds and intonations can turn a phrase into more than its individual parts.  All of that is thrilling, it is the bees’ knees. But what really appeals to me about poetry is how it can change the way I look at the world.

When my mind is tuned into its poetry channel, I can’t help but watch the clouds a little longer, breath in the aroma of my tea a little deeper, or listen to the quicksilver little birds hop about hunting for ants a while longer. I stop and slow down and become more in the world than merely moving through it.

Sometimes, I write poems about it, sometimes I try to take a photo to capture a slice of it, sometimes I grab hold and hug the poetry into them.* Often, I let it simply sink in for awhile.

Here is a small glimps of where I found poetry today.

 In strange and wonderful farmer’s market flowers.

 And in the remnants of blooms past.
Where do you find your poetry?

* I am referring to my loves here, in case you were wondering.

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