Crossing the point of partial returns on his questionable investments, the moose delved deeper into the depths of the only way he knew how to bugle.
How a moose could bugle, Moira never understood, but then she had enough on her hands with her feet of clay taking up arms and being caught on the horns of a dilemma, her own petard. Trees stepped aside to let Moira pass ingeniously through the tunnel of admiration, the tunnel of love being closed for repairs all through the winter of her antipathy. A queendom for a moose! But that was from her fourth-grade play, enlightened by the wisdom of sixteen bards and seven tacks. Attracted to the smell of the roasting chicken, Moira felt the rights and wrongs of species coming a little too quickly over the mountains and nearer the sun. One way only and straight to Go.
Night fell on the lovely forest, and the moose tucked in the sleeping Moira without one peep of a bugling lullaby.
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“You shall not pass!”
Is that African or Asian swallow?
😀
Dear boogie woogie bugle moose
news of your travels reached me
touched me
amused me
sobered me
readied me
for this new day
~
Thank you.
Be well and do good,
DD
Thanks for the comment. Have a good day!
This was an enjoyable read . Thanks for sharing. I love your creativity
It’s a lot of fun. I’m glad you enjoyed it! 😀