“See, turtle?”

“You solved Olive’s riddley!”

“Up-popped a new guinguette where Terri had panned about *that* soup to forget.”

“So, turtle, now, you can out-shell for a drink that will merit no eye-stink!” : )

Reflections have yet to refill my soul’s vessel with either hope or peace. Perhaps, I am a lagena, no longer utilitarian, relegated as a relic, meant for a museum—where I sit not even as an ephemeral muse of “hmmm”s, but, rather, only as one musing numbs. ; )

Becky aimed her boondie to near, but not even almost graze, the ‘burra—for she just needed it to profile a few secs for her film’s last hurrah. : )

“Oh, my ripsnorter of a retriever, I see you found a prize to gnarl.”

“Buuut, if you nix those sticks, I will best your fix with bacon wrapped in a farl!” ; )

Later, when I told her that romantics had risen for her in the blink of an eye, she replied that she, similarly as well, had followed our fateful cross by falling for me in the saccade of my bod. ; )