I was walking across the river to the library this evening. The clouds above brought to mind the opening credits of the Simpsons, except these clouds were near-menacing grey instead of puffy white. I stood high on the bridge, listening to the water rushing below.

I thought I'd write about it.

dirty cottonballs haiku

           dirty cottonballs

       billowing the sky above

           carolina blue

       on a footbridge high

           arcs of concrete and braided steel

     clouds are closer now

      water melodies

   dancing over rocks below

lockstep with the clouds

I visited my doctor recently and told him I just wasn't up to par. He upped my dose of Symbyax. It took 3 days but now I feel just great.

I guess it's not until one feels joy after going so long without it that it feels so marvelous! Yesterday was indeed joyful; me and my wife driving along Connecticut's Gold Coast, dreaming about being wealthy and owning one of those glorious homes on the water.

We stumbled into two thrift stores in Greenwich, Connecticut and flexed our shopping muscles; she for clothes, me for knick-knacks and candle-holders for the restaurant. I bought one of those chafing dishes you make Bananas Foster, Crepes Suzette or Cherries Jubilee with at table-side. It's silver-plate with a copper bottomed pan and an alcohol burner.

Somebody bail me out if the infernal thing incinerates one of my customers, would you?

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