Summer was a big bang. Dragon-boats full of double-entendres and pushing myself passed what I believed possible. Admittedly, I'm spent and hungry and longing for moonstone and Indigo on Khadi. Daily crossings with the aforementioned imminent danger cause a great deal of panic and force me into seclusion with pharmaceuticals: my closest friend. I can't stand the world sometimes; judging is a jail. Watch the quail.
Every morning they flutter down from their condos (a huge blue spruce in my Mum and Dad's front yard) and faithfully chirp and squeak down the row of apples behind my house. They leave home so early and I have no idea where they head, but, just as the sun turns pink and the mountains inky they follow their path back to the condo tree. Some of them are proud and round and leaders. They delegate and have the smaller set well intimidated and running in circles.
Is my time hear coming to a close? I hope not because I haven't finished with the quail and the condo tree and the pink-chartruese Ambrosia clusters out my kitchen window.