It's coming. The snow is coming. I can feel it in my knees. Part of me is glad it's coming and part of me is not. I might as well embrace the snow because there is no way I can keep it away and I don't want to let 3 or 4 months of discontent to take up residence in me.
December 7--Franz Marc, Cats. Eugenie had looked everywhere for her new red silk scarf. It was a gift from Raoul, a very special gift. She had pulled the length of red silk from the small golden box, the fabric sighing as it slid from the tissue paper. Raoul had laid the cool fabric on her shoulders and leaned to whisper in her ear. "It is like your skin, cherie, silky and warm. I would like to spend my day wrapped around you so closely." He lifted his silk-covered hands and caressed her bare arms, making her shiver. She felt her nipples harden and she leaned back onto his chest. Their breath quickened as they touched, the heat of the sun in the garden enhancing their pleasure. She wore the red silk all day, shivering at its sensuous touch as she went about her mundane tasks. And now, now after her bath when she was dressing for the night, it had disappeared. She tore through her rooms, flinging pillows away, plunging her hands under the covers of her bed to no avail. A glance out into the garden solved the mystery. There on the path lay the cats, Felice and Amaranth, curled in a patch of sunlight lying on her new red scarf.
I like this. I like Franz Marc's paintings, they always take me to an interesting place. I'll have to Google him to learn more about him.
--Barbara
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