Sheets of wood veneer almost as thin as card stock make up the palette I use to create pictures and designs. Some of the veneer comes from trees I never heard of until I took up marquetry four years ago. Exotic colors and grain continue to entrance me. Not long ago, in the midst of a marquetry project, I also became intrigued by a tiny, solitary visitor. 

Several friends, weary of unwanted phone calls, have told me they never answer the phone anymore; if it’s important, the caller will leave a message. When the caller shares that point of view, a volley of voice messages could surely ensue. For me it’s not an option. I wouldn’t want to miss a call like the one which inspired this poem:

Women’s fashion. For decades the phenomenon has driven me crazy as I drop my favorite clothes into the donation box. In the 21st century an annoying new wrinkle has appeared. Whether it’s due to designers’ choice or to dye makers’ mischief, it can make getting dressed a challenge.