heath

Reading Ulysses in Montana #395

Delving Yardbarker16 Comments

The salt marsh had given up its royal coronations many times over before the spectacle of frothy arabesques emulsified the briny deep.

Three houses stood near the northern edge of the marsh, and a salt refinery ringed the southern edge. The first house asked the second house for a cup of sugar. I was about to ask you for the same, said the second house. The third house said too bad you don’t need a cup of salt, I have plenty. The second house said why are we standing. The third house said what do you mean? The second house said read the first sentence of this paragraph: “Three houses stood…” We could have been sitting all along. The three houses sat down by the northern edge of the salt marsh.

The first house shouted at the salt refinery across the marsh, why are you ringing your side of the marsh. The salt marsh shouted back I have never rang anything in my life–but someone did once tell me I was a dead ringer for my brother. The three houses huddled together and giggled about the nutty salt refinery across the salt marsh. The salt marsh said does anyone know what to do with a big bag of sugar?

The giggling stopped, the smiling began, and the opulent spectacle of frothy arabesques emulsified the briny deep once more. 

Queen of the Salt Marsh

The queen of the salt marsh with an arm full of sugar. Don’t worry if you mistake her bare shoulders for a frilly hula hoop. King Charles himself doubles as photographer and namesake.

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Reading Ulysses in Montana #427

Delving Yardbarker9 Comments

A whistle of bystanders emanated the essence of sunbursts across the tethered heather of the moors of lesser Moorstead heath. More or less.

Candi said. Then Candi said Candida would always find her way into the worst of all possible worlds–even if there were only one possible world. The Mayor of Cannes said but then it would be both the best and the worst. Candi said. Then Candi said then Candida would find her way into the worst of all possible worlds even if there were a million or a billion worlds–take your pick. The Mayor of Cannes said Candida would gloss over everything regardless of the state of the world she found herself in–whether one of one world or one of any superlative of illions of worlds. Candi said. Then Candi said Ilium. Then Candi said who was the hero of the Aeneid, who flourished in Ilium after the fall of Troy Smith’s last stand? The Mayor of Cannes said according to my brother from Casterbridge, second ex-husband of faire Candida, it depends on how you look at it.

Candi said. Then Candi said you mean Rashomon. Candida said no I mean Roshalicious! And that was the best of all possible endings–until this one came along.

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