For the wonderful gift today. I drizzled it, of course, over burrata. I anointed grilled asparagus. I soused sourdough in it and felt no shame. Frankly, if I could dab it behind my ears as cologne, I would. and oh, the aroma! Like standing in a sun-drenched grove in the Andalusian valleys with a light mistral breeze ruffling one’s linen shirt. it really did make my day. You know who you are. Thank you. George Spicer
Some of us only get the chance to go to Cleethorpes. The smell of car exhaust, the tang of the Humber, the salty fragrance of thrice used chip oil.
The allure of its seductive charm, encases the ambient structure of time, Dancing with the gentle breeze of the heavens, a breeze so delicate yet so succinctly it registers forth without a murmur, and yet its presence encapsulates the beholder and therefore speaks volumes whilst remaining silent to the ear, momentarily, time passes by allowing the beholder to be at peace with an effervescent, succulent fluidity that many fail to see, let understand. It's very essence brings forth clarity , yet without knowing clarity the essence is wasted and lost within the Realm of self George Spicer may i suggest kind sir that the Olives my friend, are but black, whilst those that look in, are alas, but green with envy, who in moments like this, do bow, to thy greater knowledge of poetic verse. We are but shadows in this quest of life. Personally i find a good F*rt suffices and generally does the trick let alone clears the air It's usually the after thoughts that ... stifles most of the reality and renders the conversation pointless and a victim of time
