Flower Mandalas

There are wonderful people selling their wares at the market and I have gotten to know many of them over the years.

There is the magic weaver of quilts and cashmere lined gloves and footwear and the maker of tea cozies to lift the spirits high into the air. Her colors set the right tone for a place of community, as she invites us in to sit and chat a moment, surrounded by her tent of quilts and baskets full of her magic wares.

There are the makers of coffee and suppliers of milk products, to fill us with what we need right from farmers that are pure mostly.

Ice cream and cups of coffee and gluten free and a turtle, oh my.

The grower of carrots gets a special mention. I like his carrots so much I threaten him if they sell out before my late arrival to the market. Sometimes he has gladiolae to remind us of soul work and his lamb bones are a pleasure to suck on. I forget myself and call him the bonesman sometimes.

Blessed are the bread makers, for theirs is the kingdom of the rising yeast and the little “leaveneth” the whole market. Imagine “chocolatini” in bread “toujours.” Their wares waft us into the market regardless of the weather.

Sometimes a bird will visit the drummer and banjo players at the market.

Chestnuts from high in trees, that have brought such shiny surfaces, on to this earth, are there for the taking. Like us they leave their pods for a good grinding before they make their way into delicious cakes with lemon and with chocolate. Lovely with sipped hot tea or the family gathering. Once I brought one chocolate cake to a party and it was disregarded due to its decadence. We were a crowd of puritan sugar haters then. I heard that next morning the most strict among us had it all for breakfast. May the chestnut trees come back in force.

Riding my bike to the market.

The greens in many bags beckon us into good green heart health and we fill our baskets knowing they are pure.

Those pots are all filled with honey.

I almost forgot the honey people. My love of honey is way bigger than I am. I always like to have bottled honey and sometimes comb honey at my house. I have to put the honey deep into some hidden shelf so that I do not tarry to eat it every time I see it.The honey man with the English accent had bee’s wax candles that burned for sixty hours. That equaled two hours a day of meditation for a month. Once he gave me a pot of honey that he had bottled the day before and the honey had a fine misting of pollen on top that went down a quarter inch into that yellow color at the top. It still felt warm from the hive. After that, I felt that I had a better understanding of the Spanish poet, Neruda, who wrote about his dream of honeybees making sweet honey in his chest. That giving gesture brings a great sweetness with it.

I will finish up with a little story about an early visit to the market. I was in a great rush as I had another appointment out of town. It was before opening time and I was bent on getting those fresh greens. In response to my abrasive demands for service before opening, the vendor pulled out a used plastic bag and shook it out not once but thrice before placing my produce in it. My undivided attention was on that empty bag, as I was forced to slow down. I still think of that moment and laugh seeing myself as that “empty bag”in a great rush.

May all the people of the market, mentioned and not mentioned, who grace our market with their wares, and create community for us, be blessed with a community unity that brings riches to all of all sorts.

I pay for my produce but sometimes I get to steal dreams about flying dish from these marvelous people.

Music makers throwing around some notes

Original art work by Rose. I was at a wonderful showing of art by Shanna Fliegel at Larkin Arts on Friday. Annabeth McNamara was the featured singer. The artwork was inspiring, and the singing divine. Some of the artwork featured here was sketched then under the umbrella of that art and that music.