Harbingers of ecstasy precluded a build-up of piles, but the automotive juice, deprived of fixation, depleted the thimbles of Mercury.
Syncopated maladies, inlaid with corroborations with beauteous teakettles, corroborated against the dying of the light–without rage and not in August. Hemispheres in bloom told Judy where to find the pot of petunias for her mother’s begonia garden, upsides being downsized and rightsides being wrong along the long axis toward the given proverbial proverb.
Dendrites K, F, and G understood the nature at the heart of Judy’s world, unfurled like the flag of permanent popsicles. Fraught with peril, the loon dancers danced to the light of the new moon where even Judy feared to tread, although not her mother nor her mother’s other daughter from another mother.
Harbingers and maladies alike raged into July where Judy piled pots and flags for all to see in ecstatic repose.
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This used to be a regular occurrence; not so much now (or even then!).
I used to think so too!
I love your website!!
Judy Kelly
Thank you, Judy! It’s a lot of fun. 🤩
Just glorious!! Your writing is like an explosion in a poetry factory!
Yes, that’s exactly what it feels like when I’m writing it. 😁
Wonderful stuff. 🙂
Thank you! 🙂