The mouth, the ear understands failure. Mentions it and moves along. Dwelling on the less-than never invites abundance.
And what is writing, what is a fine meal if not abundances. Rainbow chard being an extravagance.
A few days ago, I roasted kale. Didn't work. Neither did the lines of poetry that morning. Discarded, both. Looking forward to what the next remodel of leftovers will issue.
(hypotheticals continued)
ReplyDeleteSoon the merchant learned the unexpected:
the foreman had received a letter from a stranger
he had hidden it in the pocket of his apron
which was found by the local laundry service
the owner of the service had a son who was his worker
and couldn't resist reading the letter
he interpreted the letter as from a secret lover
and was shocked as he knew the foreman's wife
not knowing what to do he sought the counsel of the clergy
who was busy attending the conclave events in the capital
and passed the laundryman's case onto a prelate
who unfortunately had fancied the foreman's wife