Writering

I made poeming last night! See? Idn't it purty? Sorry, my inner hillbilly escaped for a moment but I think I've got her back in her jar. I'm just about ready to kick Spring in the slats and get her up and running again. It's so cold I'm thinking of getting my winter coat up again and it's supposed to snow/sleet/rain 4 to 8 inches (depending on who you listen to) on us in the next 24 hours. I need to run out and visit the Easter Bunny today to make sure he's got "the kids" on his list and Durwood will be laying in food for the siege. I don't think I'll be able to wring another snow day out of what's coming so it can just stay away. *stamps foot*

April 18--Edouard Manet, A Matador.

Transformation

The ring was shabby, the
sun hot. Everything about it was
tired. The horses
sagged under the picadors'
weight. Their blades were
dull as their mounts
shambled after the
bull, a grizzled
veteran of the ring. The taped
trumpets blared
thin and discordant.

The matador strutted out into the
sunlight. His suit of
lights flashing in the
glare. Middle-aged and
dumpy, I thought him
comical, but when he reached the
center, he was
transformed. In the
spotlight he
commanded our
respect,
swirled his cape with
authority. With one
imperious look, I was
his for the
taking.
~~~~~

Whew, I think I'm having a hot flash. That kind of sneaked up on me. I'm off to see the Bunny!
--Barbara