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I enjoy reading Lord Whimsy's writing. I'm slowly reading his book loaned to me from This Verdant Country. It takes me a while to get in the groove of his writing style, but once I do, I find myself feeling less serious about everything. That's good.
Here's a bit from his latest newsletter:
"The angel's trumpet blooms are in full profusion of late, coming in at
last count at over thirty blooms. I sit under its boughs in the
evenings when the blooms fully open, and allow the bouquet of rose and
jasmine scents waft over my drooping eyelids.
And you should see the bog garden---venus flytraps large enough to
frighten livestock.
August--earth's siesta! The only time of year when a deeply lazy man
can pass for normal among the normals! Relish it, my darjeelings."
"The angel's trumpet blooms are in full profusion of late, coming in at
last count at over thirty blooms. I sit under its boughs in the
evenings when the blooms fully open, and allow the bouquet of rose and
jasmine scents waft over my drooping eyelids.
And you should see the bog garden---venus flytraps large enough to
frighten livestock.
August--earth's siesta! The only time of year when a deeply lazy man
can pass for normal among the normals! Relish it, my darjeelings."
2 comments:
"August--earth's siesta! The only time of year when a deeply lazy man
can pass for normal...".
Oh good! I'm blending in then...
Did you get to the chapter about "self-congress" yet? Or the one about "assessing one's man-antler"? Those were favorites of mine, obviously.
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