One gate. Red gate...

One gate... 

    Red gate...

Two gate...

Blue gate...

 I am drawn into the foyer of a front yard. 

A private entrace into the house.
A space to greet friends.
A place to remove shoes.
An outdoor room to revel in a summer nite.



A small book...

     

     

Paper rolls, sections of ribbon, and a piece of twine...



Immagination, scraps of paper, and a little time...

  

Leaves you with a small book of magical travel vignettes.



. 

Where's the post?

Where's the post been? In my dreams. A lack of dreamless sleep leads to a lack of creative thoughts. I am awake with Newton. Poor Newton. He was given his third strike last week (urinary blockage). After having surgery to remove the last external male attribute he had - he is restless. He seems more concerned about the shaved area on his front leg and his rear paw. I thought he would be looking for his lost member. Nope. I take the cone off so he can eat and do a little self-cleaning (above the waist). He goes after his leg and paw with vigor - to me he seems agitated as if he was given a bad haircut. He is a handsome cat - so everyone tells him. I think it went to his head. No worries Newton - the hair will grow back.