To 2008.

Skumps.

Where the drifts get deeper.

The wood grew wilder, her mood milder. And winter eventually cracked and bled the color of roses.

Exhaustivo.

Last one. Promise.

Last year's leftovers.

Found this at the back of the icebox. Scraped off the rime, peeled back the layers of foil, took a cautious sniff, and decided that, with a nice holly garnish, it might just be fit for consumption.

He who would pun would pick a pocket.

Not exactly drawn in the spirit of the holidays, but, 'tis the season for shearing. It's more 'greyish lamb' than 'black sheep' and, if there's any allegorical 'lord/queen/church' to 'master/dame/little boy' parrallel to be drawn, I've probably missed the mark. But it's gotten me somewhat shakily back on track and has kept me from any, ahem, ...woolgathering.

Don't spray it.

Been overdosing on Mother Goose. Here's a little known jewel:

Whistle, daughter, whistle,

And you shall have a sheep.

Mother, I cannot whistle,

Neither can I sleep.*

Whistle, daughter, whistle,

And you shall have a cow.

Mother, I cannot whistle,

Neither know I how.

Whistle, daughter, whistle,

And you shall have a man.

Mother, I cannot whistle,

But I'll do the best I can.

This, days after my grandmother waggled her finger at me over lunch and said (around a mouthful of raisin bread), "Hsst! Ladies never whistle!" Perplexing when one's only sources of Old World counsel contradict each other.

*Intentional correllation between sleep and sheep?

Also comes in flavors "Smashing Pumpkin" and "Metallica".

Ever wonder what radiohead would sound like in lullabye format? I confess, after the String Quartet Tribute To and Christopher O'Riley Plays...I did.