And in the tropical air, the scent rose like a spirit

[sovay]

Today I ate rambutans, made up a blueberry cake, roasted Cornish hens with figs, thyme, and lemon, and helped bake vegan brownies. Walked along Mass. Ave. and bought herbal chai. Did some research in a dead language. There were all sorts of other things wrong with today, but the food and the turning cold of the air were not any of them.

If you are not already aware of the Delirium Fruit Swap, you should be. And you should be sending poems. The project looks to be awesome; and with any luck, it will generate more hats.

Last Drink Bird Head. I won't be at World Fantasy, but I have a flash in the anthology. More to the point, so do many truly excellent authors—Caitlín R. Kiernan, Liz Williams, Michael Swanwick, Tanith Lee, Gene Wolfe, Sarah Monette . . . Rikki Ducornet went to college with my mother. (Her senior project—a line-drawn deck of Tarot cards—was one of the four things that my mother regrets never being able to own.) That may be even more surreal than the title of the book.

Happy birthday, hans_the_bold!

Comments

[clarionj.livejournal.com]

I was telling my sister recently that when you describe your days, they always seem so rich and full. I think it's the attention to details. My morning was just flavored with Cornish hens, blueberry cakes, figs, and thyme, and the waking chill of air.

[sovay]

My morning was just flavored with Cornish hens, blueberry cakes, figs, and thyme, and the waking chill of air.

Heh. Thank you. I don't know how to describe things without the particulars.