Letter to my Stepmother for Christmas:
Imagine a space. An oasis of flowers and shrubs. A place where birds come to sing to you the glory of the work you've done. It is summer and the breeze wafts floral perfumes across the grass. Everywhere you gaze is color. The bright white of the fence showcases the subtlety of petal whorls and shrub arrangement. There's a path with fragrant herbs that crush under your feet. The grass is smooth and every day is it's impossible to resist taking off your shoes and walking upon your earth until the soles of you feet are green. Every day is a joy to sit in such a creation. And every day you do. Afternoons are spent tending to your sanctuary, bestowing a serenity to you and all who and all who linger there.
And then you realize that your work crew consists of four people who believe that the proper use of shrubbery is for payment to the Knights Who Say "Ni".
Don't worry. There's still time to modify your plans.
Comments (2)
I like this red background.
And this post.
x.g.
"Wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiith . . . a herring!"
I was unaware of any proper uses for shrubbery . . .