Allure>> Turn your head in the direction of even the smallest beauty — breeze through the oaks out back, earthworm’s unwinding beneath the large bowl of water left in the garden for nighttime visitors. Small, smaller, smallest. What calls for regard? How many times this year can we notice what often goes unseen? How many times today?

Bee and Buoy>> Nearly 10 years ago, after my father’s death, each time I walked in the chaparral country, a bee would lead my way. Once I’d gone east a mile or so, from late February to late March, the bee would show up. Was it the same bee? I can’t say. On each walk it led the way; I followed. That bee (or those bees) buoyed me. Was the bee my father? You betcha. We had a bee thing together. We’re going to need buoying this year. Who will you buoy and who or what will lift you up?

Clouds>> When they are up there most of the time in their white and gray fullness or feathering, or at sunrise dressed in pink and orange, as if waiting, why do I so often forget to look up?

Destination>> Despite indications otherwise, destination is not a location on any map.

Enter>> Past the roads and the cars and the people, that other world — the one with birds and trees and the wide expanse — invites us to enter.

Far>> As far as your feet may carry you. That far.

Go>> The human engine encased within the sturdy cage of ribs. It goes! Over and over — thankfully — and over again.

Heel>> Simple as heel and toe, heal and toe.

Into>> Walking along coastline, through meadow or forest. You go into. Into is better, mostly, than out of.

Jump>> Ha, ha, ha! Oh, yes, once I could and often did.

Kick>> Those small stones often call to my toes. There goes one now following the swift, unrestrained but not unforgivable lead of my foot, tumbling and turning somersaults down the dirt path.

Longing>> It’s not backward that I long to go. And yet…

Mountain>> My husband calls me from the mountaintop. He’s walked many difficult miles upward to get there. That’s joy in his voice, singing in his quick breath, and he is sending it to me from the place I’m unable to go!

Nowhere>> Or is it now here?

Open>> Eyes, certainly, mind, most of the time. Open to that body of land that I can picture, if not with my eyes, for one damned reason or another, well, then, with my mind or something else.

Pause>> Between steps there exists a tiny, nearly insignificant moment, pause, not hesitation. The foot lifts, but before it touches down again. I love that place; some days I want to live there!

Question>> The land takes my questions, holds my doubts and fears, never laughing at what might be considered my ignorance or silliness, never turning away from all I don’t understand, never turning me away, not from that which I love nor that which I’m afraid of.

Resolve>> Resolve, resist, reclaim, rest, repeat. Resolve, resist, reclaim, rest, repeat.

Stand>> Who and what do we stand for? I think we’ve got to stand there.

Touch>> The top of the leaf is smooth and slick from recent rains. The bottom reminds me of the advantage of roughness. Walking along, a tree branch snags my sweater, holds me still. Confused, then frustrated, then laughing. I never thought of laughter as a form of touch, but now I know, laughing at myself, caught and suspended like that.

Understory>> It’s the one that’s always held my attention most. There’s the upper-story, the ground of the story and then there’s what’s beneath.

Vision>> These eyes watch the waves crest 30 feet high before the new year takes off. I watch each wave touch down with admirable — enviable — force, onto the beach. No equivocation!

Wonder>> It doesn’t diminish, but year after year, grows wider, deeper, longer, requires less.

X-Ecstasy>> Is found when walking a long way, yes, or farther.

Yes>> So many questions have this answer, this one answer — how lucky are we!

Zig Zag>> Not straight ahead but sideways, a little back, a little forth, a lot of leaning into and away from, and with aplomb — pink legs beneath a short black skirt, cowgirl boots down low.

Del Rey Oaks writer and poet Patrice Vecchione is the author of several books including, most recently, “My Shouting, Shattered, Whispering Voice: A Guide to Writing Poetry & Speaking Your Truth” and “Step into Nature: Nurturing Imagination and Spirit in Everyday Life.” Her titles are available wherever books are sold. More at patricevecchione.com