Saturday, January 22, 2005

Sneaux Din

Swingle Singers on the box, spiced beef stew with rice on the stove, fire going on the hearth.... I don't pretend to know what womb-memory is tickled by the knowledge that it's snowing buckets outside and I'm warm inside, far, far removed from anything and anyone I don't love, but tickle away, say I. Give me a snowstorm, plenty of firewood and food, and I care not who makes the nation's laws.

(Let's see if I feel this way if I can't get out of here in three days...)

1 comment:

Employee of the Month said...

All work and no play make Neddie...
All work and no play make Neddie...
All work and no play make Neddie...
All work and no play make Neddie...
All work and no play make Neddie...
All work and no play make Neddie...
All work and no play make Neddie...
All work and no play make Neddie...
All work and no play make Neddie...
All work and no play make Neddie...