Fetch For Me The DustpanThere is a dark and fragrant water in my tea cup. I have sweetened it some; there is precedent for that. The tea is not so hot as to bite, but warm, the good warm that follows on from scotch or skating (I cannot skate). It is crisp outside, but not cold, and I must walk a while today. The tea will keep me.
I have had some luck with cookies, these years, primarily of two types. What I mostly find myself making are hand-filling, cakey things that whimper under the weight of nuts and fruit and lumps of chocolate. I have had some success with more buttery cookies, too, and while they are still very good, I have grown to like them less.
I do not know how to make crisps, snaps, little dry discs that clatter together like bones. I think I will try to find some ginger today. I think that's next.
All content under copyright by the author. Dancing is permitted. The strange deltic glyphs in the sand under tidal flow are a pleasure to watch in their deepening. Offer not valid in Kansas. We put it down and then we lost it. It all happens in the corner of the eye. Commentary accepted at pen@goob.com, although the traps are agressive and the pointy bits simply drip with dark liquour. We have a dog, but we do not own it. Thank you.