Crime Scenes and Cookies

This year's batch of Kourambiedes came out melt in your mouth. They are a shortbread-like butter cookie snowed over with powdered sugar and placed in a frilled paper cup. The latter is damning as evidence of what's eaten. The number you consume can be traced. A plate topped with empty paper cups is the give away. You didn't stop at one. Every Greek home has its crime scenes. Mine is still being swept up.

Now, the tins are empty. It's back to work. My desk is waiting. Happy New Year to All. Friends, Followers, and Everyone on Goodreads. You remind me of the power of words. So, this one's for you and the words that wait you in the months ahead. Just some musings to my kindred spirits.

xxx Georgia

If "words are the daughters of earth,"
as Samuel Johnson says,
then let them be agile and dance.
Let them stand on the soles of their own two feet
and on toes when looking up.
Let them speak in a voice not too high or low
but straight from the heart.
Let their strength be their beauty
and the message be plentiful as befits our appetites.
Let it be so at tables with many or just us.
Let words come as good daughters (or sons)
bearing oranges in a winter month.
Let them come as pockets of sun from the darkness.
Let them bring their delight in the year ahead
whether what we do is read or write.