mix ‘n’ match in the following. ‘Twas ever thus …
A hare, they say, divides the False and True …
—and this guy sits patiently in a downtown (Dee Street) pub. I’ve entertained notions of kidnapping said beast but would probably get savagely savaged for my troubles. (Not by the hare—by the barlady) (they have some dolly damsels tending bar here, and on occasion some formidable battle-maidens. It would be just my luck …)
NEXT: A norse.
An ‘orse? (Damn this long forgotten Cockney accent …)
There’s a young foal in the field behind, and like a good parent anywhere this one checks out intruders.
Peace, friend … en passant …
and herewith something one doesn’t see often. A foxglove cruising at periscope depth …
—so I mowed around it, leaving a long stripe unmown back to the parent plant. The Spouse mildly mentions sometimes that we have idiosyncratic lawns but I counter with words to the effect that if the Gods had meant us to have clipped grass they’d have evolved it that way. (So there~!)
Moving on, to—
—the the Land Of Nod
—yes; it’s ‘nodding grass’.
In town (Invercargill) on a derelict site I found some, burgled a few bits and now have several patches growing. You can’t see here but the slightest breeze sets the whole lot dancing—it may be a weed but just see if I care: I love it!
AND TO FINISH
—I saw this in a charity shoppe just yesterday. Santa Maria in a
bottl glass thing; and my shot does it no justice at all … “No!” squawked The Spouse in alarm and (dare I say?) so emphatically that seagulls took flight outside. A redundant bellow—I have too many of these sorts of things already.
“Wisdom, Argie, is knowing when to bite your tail …”