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In the Wet it Get About as Wet as I Can Get

"Now its raining cats and dogs and I can’t stand croaking frogs."  I know it’s a need for the roots, but I don’t gots no roots.  I just want the crisp cool nights and warm days of fall.  Bring on the colour, bring on the leaves.  No bug rakes needed at this juncture.

Weltern movements wishing washing was easier.  It’s not the notion of the motion it’s the Quaking of the quiver.  The hunt should be nigh over and the stores and larder full.  We bliss with behaviours not regulated by the flourish of the shortened days and darker nights.  Fuel Foraging will begin soon, 8 or 9 bushies should do it.  It’s the outside fire that uses up a lot of the fibrous material, no Damper, no Billie to boil.  Those down-under understand.

But the stock of that amber and yellow liquid builds for those relaxing meditative days and nights by the flame.  Insides warmed by that nectar and the outside soothed by the glow of the burn.  Of days in the fine cosmopolis of Hespeler on the Speed we are banned from the burn, but confidence reigns supreme.  Fire it is, by the ice.

Builds in the garage trudge ahead in await of open roads and venues.  I do have an ice option as well.  I may be employed, it may not. No diff to this dude.  I can ride or not in the cold, is a coulda shoulda thing.  Oft presented options for the ride develop and wane. We have been through this season before.

Western norms make this a time for that orange gourd to rear its ugly flavoured head in brews and baked goods.  Be wary my fledglings, it is an abomination.  You can check the Ferris listing in this medium for a factual analysis.  The atomic half-life is eons, tested and proved.  Never eat anything that lasts that long or doesn’t have that colour in nature.

Fortitude is needed to feast one’s way through the cold times.  The vertical descent on slats will resume again this winter.  Steep, Deep, and Trees is the mantra.  Muggles away, and child pollution at a minimum.  Mostly mired in moguls, many miss the serenity and challenge of the aforementioned terrains.

Projects will abound inside through the colder months, however stimulus if brought in from the cold.  That clarity that comes with the dry air cleanses the mind easily.  We have nothing but a large dark coloured bang to thank for the orbs turn and tilt.  The variety in climes as a dream of the imaginary sky friend to some.  Could it be so distinct, could the thought be that clear, the precision alone is startling.

I posit the world spins positively.  The upside of the downside moving up and up side moving down is uplifting.  Only an atom of a chance in hades could bring the primordial soup to this conclusion.

Make it a Scotch Shot Coffee today Clariss.

Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land, and for some, from The Dark Side. Not am Main nor ab der Elba, but down the Donau, and with Turkish Chai. #garagelurker2019, also A.C.


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