Tuesday, May 8, 2012

"Who knew?"

           Oh, my gosh, Auguste.
           They don't know yet. 
           I haven't found the
           moment to tell them. 


      I know.
      But they
      aren't here

  I suppose we'd 
  better get back. 
  Hercule and his 
  friend must be 

  I doubt it.

i   Derek
iii, iv, v   Ivan Terestchenko


  1. Replies
    1. Your Springtime postings, beginning with amazing luminosity and refulgence in Paris, are wholly to blame for this narrative, and I expect you shall hear more of this in the coming days. In enchanted Marladas the flower beds were spectacular, alluring enough after the long rains, but the burst of acacia, Ivan, went over the top in more ways than one, a complimentary shower on the whole spectacle, floating petals in the breeze of subtropical Condrieu ~ the viognier grape, melon-y and viscous, dulcet in suspension of its benison ~ scattered approbation and contentment o'er the unsuspecting inmates of its open shade. That's some piece of land you got out there. :)