"Don't forget your own wilderness wish that gets buried in snow."
This should be a short entry today, as I mean to finish Part One of "The Aubergine Alphabet" today. And I want to wash my skanky hair and maybe even go for a walk. It's a little warmer today, currently 27˚F, though it supposedly feels like 32˚F. This time yesterday it was twenty degrees colder here. We're supposed to reach 37˚F, and the sun is
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I like the sound of "K is for Keyhole".
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I am very much looking forward to this alphabet.
"Writers, before you refer to yourselves as prosers, do be aware that this antiquated word not only means someone who writes prose, it also means 'one who talks or writes tediously.' (from Merriam-Webster)."
It sounds like the writer's version of poseur. "Oh, God, you should have seen what this scene was like before there were prosers everywhere, writing their novels on iPhones and fainting for their Muses left and right."
It rained here last night, then snowed again, and this afternoon it appears to be sunny and melting. I do ot trust any of it.
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"Oh, God, you should have seen what this scene was like before there were prosers everywhere, writing their novels on iPhones and fainting for their Muses left and right."
Priceless.
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We had snow here in Staten Island this morning, too but now the big meltdown is in progress. Melt, freeze, melt, freeze. Spring can't get here fast enough!
I hope the sorrow is banished to the hinterlands.
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