Monday, 28 July 2014

It seems I might have finally struck a chord!

My recent post, catchily entitled "Glad Tidings of Great Joy",
would appear to have connected with the deeper, more sensitive
side of your psyche dear readers and your response,
if not actually viral, has been touching and really rather special.
One kindred spirit, Sharon from far away in south Virginia
blessed me with a gently rainy, green morning.
There was no hint of what perfume this greeting carried
but you can't win them all - perhaps it was of purple
lilacs borne on a warm breeze.

Humvee birds!
Deborah, the Julie Andrews of the high and verdant peaks,
sent me a pretty day filled with happy little hummers,
an abundance of parsley, yellow crooknecks, chocolate mint and
loads of cherry tomatoes lit by sparkling sunshine. 

At this point I have a confession
to make as I misread the word hummers as "humvees"
which instantly conjured up a vision of giant roadsters hovering in the
air.  I wonder what variety of mint caused that!

There's always a dog in there somewhere.
 Never one to disappoint, sweet Cathering of the White Horse
came up with soft mumblings of affection coupled with
the smell of rain on hot grass and earth
together with kisses like small droplets of moisture
running down the window panes.
Bravo, three cheers and well done ladies, I was rather
touched by it all although there are some who would say
that I'm generally a bit touched so no change there!
Into each life some rain must fall, scented or otherwise,
which brings me to the French entry!

Rose Window, Chartres Cathedral, France.
The RSI (Regime Social des Independents) based
at Chartres did not send me rainbows of coloured
light streaming from a thousand panes of sacred stained
glass in their beautiful cathedral but a terse demand for
my second trimestre trading figures with a very
tight deadline of 31 July, or else, which is why I must
end here and immerse myself in my ledgers for
fear of facing a hefty fine or possibly
incarceration in a modern day version of
the dreaded Bastille.

Wonder where she's hidden her calculator?
 Now where did I put that old envelop I jotted
those figures down on?

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