Sunday, October 20, 2019

A glass ceiling

is a canvas for interesting bric brac, for the unassimilated.  For nouns of all sorts.  Memories, too, including favorite recipes & phrases.  All the disparate can be pulled together in a sentence, in a recipe. To be shared.  To be served up.

1 comment:

  1. A shift in the paper lanterns meant the wind was nearing aft. All lined up for the smashing ball, the gazebo strung in sapphire lights. I whispered to your button, I ran a comb through my hair.