mixed metaphors

Started out tame, it did, the first episode with winter come. But the scheming and uncertain alliances portend the drawn-quartered/hung/split/spilled guts to come. In anticipation of the blood and gore, pulling out scenes carved into the doors of churches and palaces and from paintings in airy museums, which brought on instant flashes of Game of … Continue reading

flights of fancy

Sighing over the inked gorgeousness of the Kalij Pheasants, their bijoux bandit look on account of the ruby shadowing their eye, I finally gave up pretending to be a bird enthusiast and admitted that I’m more a whimsical aesthete. Each time I see a bird (most strikingly in breeding plumage!), I only peripherally notice how … Continue reading

the good life*

(* wish you were here…)   As the bulbul flashed his red bottom on my balcony garden, a cheeky tomato red to the poinsettia’s cheerful ruby, I caught myself in the act of yet another impulsive-compulsive click and thought back to that snow leopard stakeout scene in The Secret Life of Walter Mitty. Walter Mitty: … Continue reading

LITTLE FETISHES

    “You have too many already.” I gave a guilty start. But the stern admonition was directed at the younger girl who stood beside me, gazing as lustily as I was at the pencils in rainbow array display – some out of our reach and some at a tempting arm’s distance. “You can’t ever … Continue reading

5, 6, pick up sticks…

  … the bendy ones, a little gnarled, not entirely juiced-out, still with the bark on. In two-feet terms, picking up sticks could be debating fonts like the Packmaster does when she pretends screen-busyness: Bold, Italic, never regular. Or, an exercise in finding a friend – misshapen yet reassuring. I like my sticks thick like lamb shank bones. … Continue reading