The town common floods, and there is ice. Some years, the fire department adds to it and makes an ice rink, but not this year.
So, since no one is here skating, we can try to decipher the characters in this . . . poem? Is it a pledge? A meditation? A declaration of love or yearning?
Run your fingers over it, or your toes, or your tongue. Learn the shape of it, and when you know it by touch and taste, perhaps you will have the meaning of it, too.
More tasty, though, is this
no-churn espresso ice...
Published on February 24, 2013 22:06