"...its shell as rusty
as a camp dish,
as fragile as a pagoda
on a stone..."
From "Letter Written on a Ferry While Crossing Long Island Sound" by Anne Sexton
***
Back from the biz trip, and foo -- caught a summer cold. Lost my voice during Day Two of the trade show (or rather, gained a weirdly squeaky croak.) Still feeling punk, although drinking ginger tea and petting the cats helps.
I'm glad you stopped by, but don't get too close -- I might sneeze, and I'd hate for you to catch what I have.
6 comments:
so many textures i can feel with my eyes fingers. the little text dances right on top of this image. nice. steven
Oh, that's for me. I do like the play of themes here. Like a Beethoven symphony.
More to the point,glad you're out and about. Was beginning to experience some withdrawal.
Oh, get better soon!
Hi gents!
Steven -- I am so glad I've given your eyes' fingers something to dance with! Thanks for coming back 'round.
Shelly -- Wish I was out and about, but I've been too snotty. This is the last from my last picture outing, so I am crossing my fingers all will be well enough this coming weekend for a fast wander.
Dale -- I hear dat, and am dosing myself with fluids to that end. If I were in your neck of the woods, would stop by for a healing massage once I quit making hacking noises.
Sorry to hear you have the plague ... the squeaky croak part is no fun.
Petting cats helps with many things. Feel better soon.
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