“Now is the winter of our discontent/ made glorious summer by this sun of York…” – first line of Shakespeare’s play Richard III
The Winter of Our Discontent by John Steinbeck
Why is winter associated with Macchiavellian plots? (I have no answer.)
What do you call an icicle with two prongs? A bicicle.
What do you get when you photograph a bicicle from inside a screened window?
Can you tell my mind is unfocused today? Wander with me, if you like…
I’m not the type to rush outdoors and start shoveling in a snowfall. I stay inside until it stops, and then I wait to see how much will melt off the driveway and sidewalks all by itself. Often, someone else has already shoveled by the time I get out. Not very Macchiavellian of me at all.
Squirrel tracks on the garage roof
Stone-faced, pondering, feeling the weight drip slowly down the back of my neck, one cold drop at a time. I’m moody today.
This has now become one of my favourite posts of yours…love what you’ve written ( made me laugh which is always very welcome) and the photos are fab !
Makes me think I often try too hard…maybe just being transparent is focus enough!
I send you hugs and a giggle to chase away your moodiness…
I love the photos of the stone child with the snow bib and the buried zebra. Snow is magical and otherworldly to me, since I rarely see it except on mountaintops and other people’s pictures. When you mention shovelling though, I remember my Chicago childhood and it becomes only too thisworldly.
Now is the winter of our discount tent.
haha…. love that comment AC 😀
Me, too! 🙂