Tuesday, December 5

• The soft gray of the pidgeons scattered among the grass. On the bench at the edge, a man in blue jeans and a faded gray vests hunches over.
• The faded earth-tones of the paint covering the concrete and plaster of the small boarded-up entry at the corner of the alleyway. Yellow and red ochre, cool indian red at the edge. The green leaves glow against them. 

• The shadow of the palm tree on the warm pink-yellow stone builiding, punctuayed by the alternating dark and light circles of the windows. The outline is so perfect and clean, it looks like it was painted. 

• The lower part of the olive tree by the bus stop is sunken in, hollowing out to an open oval, like a living Barbara Hepwarth sculpture.

• The bright wings of light breaking through the darkening winter evening.