Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Finally, there are leaves on the trees. Real leaves, not those blossom-things that look like tassels nor the dark purple bud coverings, but honest to God leaves. They're small and bright green yet, not the medium to dark green of summer, but green is good. Progress is slow this year. I was looking through some pictures on Monday and realized that when I was at The Clearing a year ago Sunday, the Ladyslippers and the Dwarf Lake Iris were up and blooming. This year there was no sign of an orchid or an iris. Ah, well, maybe that means that it'll stay warm longer into the fall. In excellent news, Durwood's doc says he definitely didn't have a pre-stroke, the doc suspects that he's got some raging sinus infection that mimicked a stroke. Whew. Now he's got some uber-antibiotics to take and then see the doc again to see if he can't get my sweet Durwood well again. That's a good thing; I can't lose my chef, you know. Plus he has to be well for our adventures in the Wild West in August. Steam train ride! Tour of Little Big Horn! Bubbling mud! Spurting geysers! Long-lost cousins! Roaming buffalo! We can't wait.
May 24--Tiffany & Company, Cup. She slid her hand across the cup's surface, the silver beads embedded in the amboyna wood were cool on her heated skin. How did she get herself into this mess? She was usually so careful not to leave herself open to any of the fortune hunters that paraded to her door but David was different. She had been sure of it. How could she be suspicious of that warm honeyed voice? "Celia?" Here he came. Even though she knew that he only cared about her money, her name on his lips made her insides melt. "Celia, it's late. When are you coming up?" He was right behind her chair. His hand slid down to her cheek, she leaned into it without conscious thought. "I'm lonely up there all by myself." Oh, the little boy tone of voice loosened her resolve. She set down the rare wooden Tiffany cup. It clattered on the table, her hands shaking with her conflicting emotions. She stood up and her breath caught at the sight of his bare chest glowing in the firelight. His brown hair was tousled and the dark-rimmed glasses made his look like a sexy professor. Maybe she was mistaken. Maybe Mr. Payne, her lawyer, was being too protective. Surely a man as handsome and wonderful as David really loved her for herself and not her money. David's warm hand wrapped around the back of her head and he drew her lips to his, catching her breath with his. Celia felt her heart begin to race and her hands lifted to his chest where she felt his heart pound in time with hers. "Oh, Celia," he said into her lips, "you're so soft and warm." Her only answer was a sigh.
Well now, that's more like it. An actual story. About bloody time. I'm off to cut a bouquet of lilacs to take to work. See ya.