Here you can see it in front of the bush that supplied me with the heart.
True to my tag line ‘The Wandering Poet’ I don’t live in that house any longer, and have lost the enchanted garden, but there will be more. For instance, in Florence I have a garden of terracotta roof tiles with neighbors’ laundry drying in the sun. Each day there are new textures and colors, a new crop harvested into baskets by women in the windows across from mine. Across the rooftops I can see the campanile tower of Palazzo Vecchio, and the bells become flowers that grow from the bell tower’s stalk, then fall away.
So when someone clicks on my logo they’re summoning a garden long gone, one that has flowered and frozen four times since I painted my canvas with its shapes and colors.