New name, new domain. Oh, and on June 20, this blog will be two years old. Who knew? Seems like it’s been around longer.
The ducks had trust in the two little girls who were approaching.
Actually, the ducks were Canadian geese. Elegant creatures that added class to the playground.
One girl’s name was Brooklyn, and her mother assured her the geese would not attack.
Brooklyn’s younger sister threw grass at them, offering it as food.
The other day on National Geographic’s safariLIVE!, they showed rare footage of a baby elephant charging at the nature guides’ jeep and then retreating. Charging and retreating. Never coming closer than within 2-3 feet, its ears flopping as its mother loomed in the background.
The guides and cameraman held fast, laughing at the fledgling’s repeated bluffs.
A jazzman walked in.
Blue + white pinstripe shirt.
Fill in the blanks …
They were playing bad jazz inside — some gift box set.
The man tolerated it, his hands behind his back.
I am taking forever and ever to eat my yogurt. The creamy substance is something to stir and stir with my teaspoon until homogenized and then remove gently with my mouth, using no teeth, only tongue and lips.
The pomegranate seeds are a bitter, crunchy counterpoint. Still, we must bear the unpalatable in order to be more present during the blissful — even if it is, in this case, bacteria that somehow rivals Reddi Wip
With the yogurt, the bottom of the cup is something to scrape and scrape — the spoon something to leave in my mouth as a I carry the cup to the kitchen and drop it into the trash, comforted by the thought of another and then another waiting in the fridge to be eaten.
Eep is the word of the day. Cry of distress.
Eep, it’s only Wednesday.
Thickets — “She arrived through the thickets.”
Eep reminds me of British mystery theater on PBS.
Use eep or thickets in a sentence.
You don’t necessarily have to bite into it to taste it.
There had been times
There had been times
There had been times.
The smell of the workweek is fried fish —
on the verge of burning
and flaccid green beans —
pushed to their limits.
The sound is of arguing & stomping —
the clinking of dishes
the television sparks —
a war in Tel Aviv
The setting off of lawn sprinklers
The smell of moisture on concrete
Excited to have three flash Misfit Docs published at Queen Mob’s Tea House today. My stories include one about crafting a Pam Anderson doll.
All in all, Pam will be an almond-toned, anatomically correct, windswept Wonder Woman
I love Misfit Docs. It’s one of my go-tos. Here’s the link to my stories for those who are interested.