Crimson streaks with golden bursts of pride and the ring of chimes, not to be sipped but to be gulped with gusto like a Falstaffian reveler. Tasting of mulled cider and vanilla, with the counterpoint of marching feet, bedecked with bittersweet and birch logs, crackling with the season of ice shards striking bare wood, ringed with cardinals and white pine.
See September 21, 2008 for the genesis of my “today is . . . ” postings.
See September 21, 2008 for the genesis of my “today is . . . ” postings.
1 comment:
mmm... makes me think of Christmas
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