Roundabout. Outside the general quandary. And yet practical in the semblance of listing fete. The meddle of heads bent on the golly gee whiz registrar and his morning glory champs. Laud the man down his pathos to the river. Must come to grips with the outlier passages. The cross the street pymander lo and beholding.
Does it rain? Does the wind blow? Is there sun shining? Well to know in the makeshift ruck and lour time it takes to trek from home to work convention bound. Each the hour that the expansion teams are working to connect the beams. To cross the patches with thatched niches and bracken aggies a la hallow. Have rudy a good haha.
Fortune, dressed to the nines with me and my lady. She and I comparing our lauds in the singsong raggle taggle Gypsy way we go about singing. Affording our surity to treeplanters and the like. Where they allay their arbors the chickadee sings, and the rabbits burrow, and the Chipmunks convene.
Th weir in the stream, hard pressed and yet sustained. The chanty on the cliffside above is temporary. A campers van moves about preparing food stuffs from a gathering of local berries and onions. Some carrots and a bunch of beets. Some spices from a larder, from some pinch jars. How now even a vile of denatured something with an aroma thick of pippery peppery essence.
Oh never to judge the beleaguered sky. What say? Have you the full round of your senses to gain what may have discern. Are you a critter and a varmint. An otter and a marmot more likely hehe. They all come down to the riverside to have their prayers on those days. Meant for shine and Sun to lay up and hand me down.
The dew in the beetles means to descry. She lifts it up in her nature to the soul of her train. The respondents turn it back in a rolling beat of the quarter pass. In season and change, by temperment and sees. Lucid across planes of reeve savory apple baum dropsy dervish spinning rye Jenny peeling laughter of a wood planer and his lunch time joy.
The featured fish. The regal dish. The metrical cantilever pan. The assays into water and flow. The lowland populous of the local daemon. Shining now. Looking up from his grace to feat amazed by the stomping of the haven chilly barns. His D.O.G. shep stick. His werks behind. Simple field hand shagrin and gaited gardens for hire. The seed packs and the storage jars. To seal them off for winter wheat and seed crop.
I remember the manner of ardours that went to town and threw my emblem down. The wommins. Or at least one of em were of the wit. A real shiring of gator bate I tell you. The way she could top the tables, and sop the tables, and by gaw, she mercilously cop those tables too. You know what I mean.
Okay so I wonder. Is there any reckon for us to go by? An outlyer of less frequent persuations? A triskiel to stand outside the cross? For farriers and their trade? The quippish sukeys and the wicked luce up arriving up to their fitting gate, to enter the city, and predicate upon todays particular passos amongst the grim ans their charges. The locacious bazaar handlers. The prim and the poppy flours. A bread line at a temple yard.
For some few moments drawn to asides now I assess the state of my given company. We have traveled for a day to make entreat of the good town for a day as well.
It is no small town. So plenty will make us busy. Some of us even want to take in a few entertainments. While others just love the food.
Our lives turn outside these walls as makes sense. From out the open mind what resort there is to the public domain. And there on a slight hill locking in Sunsets to all except the high treetop dwellers. When can like a wave over golden grain the high Summer and now endearing Autumn can exist surmounting a mote answer. To a dismissal at best.
