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Posts Tagged ‘wooden button’


I have stayed up tonight keeping company with my seven towering wooden shelves of books. They are good company, if lacking in organization and visual harmony. I could remedy their slothfulness by any number of ways; I could arrange every book by author within its category, or by color, or by date of publication, or even by height. Then there are spine labels and call numbers and the Dewey Decimal system to contend with. I’m channeling my inner librarian with a bittersweet chocolate brown wool cable-knit cardigan fastened with vintage black wooden buttons, and tortoise-shell reading glasses. Reaching for another saffron-flavored raisin cookie, I ponder a well-worn copy of that classic, The Oxford Book of English Verse (1250 – 1918).
“The chough and crow to roost are gone,
The owl sits on the tree,
The hush’d wind wails with feeble moan,
Like infant charity.
The wild-fire dances on the fen,
The red star sheds its ray;
Uprouse ye then, my merry men!
It is our op’ning day.”

(By Joanna Baillie, 1762-1851)

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I am in Hampstead Heath Park in London, over by West Heath. It is dusk, and the setting sun casts warm pinks over the bog. I am planning on trekking on over to Leg of Mutton Pond to let loose with copies of 250 missives that I have written to you. I’ve copied each note on gold origami paper and folded them into wee gilded swans. They will be perfectly gleaming as they float across the rippling water. I have on my old denim patched sailor pants, and a yellow and black stripped wool pullover. I’m wearing a grey canvass newspaper boy’s cap with a wooden button on the top. I sing a little tune as I make my way through the park.
“I’ve got a crush on you, sweetie pie.
All the day and night-time, hear me sigh
I never had the least notion
That I could fall with so much emotion…
The world will pardon my mush
‘Cause I have got a crush, my baby, on you”

(By George Gershwin)
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I have decided to spend the winter in a cave on a Greek island. I am traveling by a sweet natured donkey whose name is Alexander, after the infamous conquer. He has long tawny silken ears which I caress as we maneuver our way over the rocky pathways. Alexander and I take a detour to the large, dank Cave of Antiparos and I eat a picnic lunch there. I tour the cave before lunch, and am humbled to find Lord Byron’s name carved on its walls. We leave after a short break, as I hope to make it to my new home by nightfall. As the sun starts to set, it gets chilly. I fasten the walnut-colored wood toggle buttons on my duffel coat, and wrap my orange and violet striped knit scarf more tightly around my neck. Even Alexander seems tired, so we stop for tea and oranges.
Don Juan: Canto the Second – CCXIV
“The heart is like the sky, a part of heaven,
But changes night and day, too, like the sky;
Now o’er it clouds and thunder must be driven,
And darkness and destruction as on high:
But when it hath been scorch’d, and pierced, and riven,
Its storms expire in water-drops; the eye
Pours forth at last the heart’s blood turn’d to tears,
Which make the English climate of our years.”

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