Someday I may write again. Meanwhile, I am not.
The Philip Roth novel is almost over, thank God. How I hate this book. Let us hope that it at least has medicinal value.
from LycidasJohn MiltonI come to pluck your berries harsh and crude,And with forc'd fingers rudeShatter your leaves before the mellowing year.
Apparently there is a Milton quotation for everything.
Dinner tonight: New red potatoes for sure. Maybe sausage. Maybe beet greens. I'll decide when I get out there.
2 comments:
can you please use "pitchfork" in each of your posts. I also love how you drip with irony. I liked "apparently" and I loved how the Q from the funereal poem got stuck onto your blueberry picking. Tonight for dinner I had four glasses of wine, and a large hunk of chocolate. I had better start eating dinner with your family.
You know, I almost quoted "Peter Rabbit" . . . the part when Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cottontail have bread and milk and blackberries for supper. It is like a rabbit version of 4 glasses of wine and a hunk of chocolate.
I'll see what I can do about the pitchfork.
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