yesterday morning, while turning the pages of my sunday times, yes, i still read my paper in paper form: black inked finger tips, loud rustling pages flapping in the porch wind, occasionally catching fire from my fresh cut grass scented table-top candle, causing mass...
true to form, monsieur march came in like a lion; surly and base, big paws swiping madly in the air. agile as a cat, i luckily avoided any pops or scrapes to the face and bod. silly little lions can’t knock me down; i’m always ready for a nice...
a wet morning welcome can’t dampen my weekend parade. boots strapped, i stomp myself silly into monday’s rote routine of have to. long-legged lilies, cart wheeling out of their vase, do their part to help bewitch the smile out of me. memories of stolen...
just a few things making me silly happy. buds refusing to bow down to the bully of frost and freeze; defiantly, flamboyantly blooming big bowfuls of petal for our cold winter favor. birthday cakes are on the brain. i’m completely heart sweet on this sugary...
yesterday, using my thumb and index finger, i showed a friend my dwindling tolerance for nonsense; nary a speck of light could shine through a once giant wingspan of permissiveness. t’was not even 545 am and already a woman’s day was ruined because someone...
