Written for OLWG# 287
What kind of wine does one serve a ghost?
Not the cheapest wine.
Neither, the top shelf;
not for the likes of Justine.
frank point of view,
inimitable good temper,
and high spirits
were known far and wide.
Justine, whose indiscretions appealed to an entire generation, long past, that welcomed her as the antithesis of Puritanism.
I expect her to visit my room tonight so,
I’ve laid in fine cheeses, oysters, and caviar.
a Sauvignon Blanc,
or an Albariño?
(a reliable ‘go-to’ with seafood)
Perhaps, dry Riesling?
No, Champagne! I’ll pick up a bottle at Walmart.
The bubbles should contrast with the soft texture of the oyster.
The umami flavours of both should work together.
What to wear?
This week’s prompts were:
- ghosts in my room
- the cheapest wine
- what were we thinking?
Written for OLWG# 286
Dad, can we visit the world’s largest ball of string?
Do I look like Lewis and Clark?
Visiting the US
Exchange students! Young, high school aged girls – cute and giggly. They came into the shop in two waves of three. The first was from Germany, next – España, third was Italian. Then came Japan, Czechoslovakia, and a mystery country (I believe she was a bit shy as she scarcely spoke). I took the time to talk with her, and the mystery country turned out to be Greece. The young lady was from Kefalonia. Years ago, Mattie and I had stayed a month, or so, in her Grandfather’s hotel on the island’s south coast.
Turns out that we may have known her mother, too; she was called Anthea. Anthea had lived and worked at the hotel. She was the only one there who spoke English, and may have carried our luggage when we arrived, although she couldn’t have been more than eight years old at the time.
Cold this morning, when I woke, my Weather app told me it was 10O F at 0600.
At 0830, I left for the bookstore and noticed, beneath the pecan tree, lay a thick blanket of brown leaves.
Yesterday the leaves were on the tree.
They were a light shade of yellow.
The cold took ‘em, ever’ one.
This week’s prompts were:
- Lewis and Clark
- living in a cheap hotel
- the woman he’d met in Greece
Whiling away some time
Lyrics linger in the wake of her passing, and the memory of her scent. The floral arôme that falls lazily to the pavement and lingers.
Oh, to hear the poem shouted by the fog creeping silently up the quiet streets of this decaying seaside town.
The wet smell of the swamp arrives ripe with rhyme and emotion.
Verses flutter earthward from the limbs of the Ginko where they wait to be collected by groundskeepers and hidden from our sight: forever.
Song lives in the words of the poet and the lingering drops of a summer shower.
This Vet group has prompted me to think.