vaguely misplaced tin
brush painted red, twenty-three
hike hike hikin me
pairs of chromosomes, they see
like like likin thee
tip my head and grin
cowgirlin th' three
tappin into a similar sap:
2 comments:
Nice to see that 1) you're still out there, putting in the hard graft of existence, and 2) walking your kittums. :-)
And a wild 23 jumped out at you! An unimaginative wag would argue that that sign could be an indicator of square footage, or the number of a private allotment, or boring things such as that. But maybe it appeared to remind you of its existence, who knows? WHO KNOWS.
Having basically been hunkered down in the Schloss that is Deafening silence Plus since April of 2020, I haven't spotted 23 out in the wild for quite a while, and when I do have to go out and get groceries and sundries, my attention is so laser-focussed on getting In and Out in the quickest possible time, that I don't have my eyes open for the number. Perhaps your sign is my sign to keep a look-out more often. *nods*
Free range 23 is gradually becoming aware in its new environs.
To call it domesticated would be a short shrift; but it seems to be comfortable shelf-elfing (wonderful gerund) the domicile, when wee hours and their cousins from the zero-dark-thirty clan keep the cats company.
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