-I love a joke well-told.
I love the solving of a riddle, that moment when the rigid, false facade collapses and an unexpected figure strides smiling forth.
the migration of birds
the orioles squabbling in Costa Rican palms while juncos forfeit their taiga to claim these rich south woods of winter.
the dormancy of things that stay - creatures burrowed deep to sleep.
the fierce biding of stemless roots and leafless twigs.
the genius of a queen bee, hot within her cluster, sipping summer's honey.
. . . The whole love poem below the fold . . .