A Snowdrop breath

  • Cold
  • Frosty
  • White of snow
  • Arctic tulle drapes
  • Porcelain lattice of wintertime blooms
  • Shaping landscape with alabaster hues
  • Snowflakes lavish
  • Hush of chill
  • Lacing
  • Breath.
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    75 thoughts on “A Snowdrop breath

        1. You’re very welcome, Yassy. I always enjoy reading what you have written. I’ve been a bit absent of late, and haven’t really been able to read as much as I’d like, but I am so glad I got a chance today. I will have to learn more about the tetracyt. 🙂

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        1. Nay, nay, dear Lady Yassy. ‘Tis I who thank you. Constant is one of your many names. And posting re-ward that is is but a minor bout of my appreciation for your talent and your example of a mistress of her craft(s) supporting others.

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    1. When my brain is shet of me, I shall will the thing yourway. But for the nonce, dear Lady, these ‘lectric signals must suffice. And, again, I must nay: you write – I trust and do believe – because either you must or you believe you must and such compulsion finds fair among the many who sup at your wellspring of wonderful work. I appreciate because God gifts me the desire to understand, even the inexplicable, as best I may. and your kind words give impetus to my many desires to visit your work and admire and THAT, Yassy, is part of what motivates my sometimes too-fast flying fingers along this magic keyboard through which we conspire with creation.

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        1. Magic is a nimble biter of wrists and wits when carried just so far past its needful perch. I – pardon the elongated pun coming next – try to keep myself grounded planting or at least planning my potato patch later this month. The peelings for tonight’s escalloped potatoes with onions, mushrooms, tomatoes and bits of ham all surrounded by butter, both golden and black sesame seeds (bene?) and all protected by butter with collops of mozzarella and dashes of reggiano from Parma all will go compostward, except for a few sacraficial end-pieces which one trusts will become next Fall’s better moments. The sweet potatoes’ vines and leaves still exist to join in steam as greens or leaves in salads, but the fruits stayed underground too long and fed burrowing creatures who also must have had hunger. Next time solarize the soil and harvest earlier…but then I would have fewer salads and steams. All life is compromise. And I can use the cinnamon and maple syrup to good effect elseplate, no?

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        2. Were you engorged with all the slurps still your razor-sharp multi-disciplined appetite would keep you keen. I just enjoy flinging receipts…I shall post to WP the process of this evening’s casserole upon completion early next week. A toss of many-lettuces (and remaining sweet potato leaves and some wild arrugula perhaps, salad with an orange-and-strawberry infused vinaigrette upon which I will dunk ripped-asunder loaves of best-dessert-yet bread with a schmear of butter because I over-doused the greens deliberately to sop up the cucumbery and radishy delight. Pregame meal for listening on radio to the madness of American tackle football because watching on television takes too much time from book-readin’ and notebook-writin’. I shall think fondly of Yassy as I sup…oh. my. Gotta check the wine-locker. Or will it be crisp and cold beer? Now, I am happy: a conundrum comes galumphing into view. Must sharpen Old Vorpal!

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