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Quiet fell upon the garments of the partygoers. As passed by a tortoise wearing a pair of silent trousers. Having spoken not a word to the Frenchman, Turtle graciously accepted the proffered ears of corn and added them to his bum-bag. And, without pausing for thanks, away the Frenchman strode thinking only for a fleeting moment about the mechanics of attaching a bum-bag to a tortoise. Said the undoubtedly portly feline. After all, he was quite ready for a brew.
Sunday, January 22, 2012. Sometimes, when we get hurt, we act like wounded animals. The strong ones lash out while the weak ones hide, but neither help or trust one another. Sometimes misunderstandings and miscommunications grow up to become mistakes and misgivings that may not ever be undone. Sometimes I want to start over. I will be the first to admit I fail and do not. Every Sunday I confess my sins. I have no hope but God. Thursday, August 25, 2011.