She's An Artist Ring opal guests drawn inevitably towards the

guests drawn inevitably towards the water

dinner on a hundred perfect plates

the corner of the pier

made entirely of gold

We saw a pod of evening surfers and a real pod of dolphins that night

She's An Artist Ring opal guests drawn inevitably towards theThe day smells like snow, the soft roll of cloud quieting the birds, wood fire smoke in the air filling you with anticipation. The studio feels like a hothouse, ferns and anthuriums everywhere, elephant ears and fiddle fig trees snug among pots of paint, the battered easel. Your grandmothers prisms on the windowsill, a geodesic dome in pastels. Leonard Cohen on the record player, crooning to the bowl of tropical fish, their scales a symphony of color,