Bare Feet and Feathers

Bread on the counter Mayonnaise spread Cucumbers suspended Green,green aquarium...with salty green vinegar cloves bouncing and teasing... (and my mouth is watering). RAYMOND! Grandma is spent, She's a flapper Jars aren't jazz and her Grandchildren are wanting. Pickles are pucker. Our cheeks know it. If only Grandpa could... POP! Goes the top. Grandpa is strong. Will I ever be like him? Posted for One Single Impression "Top" http://onesingleimpression.blogspot.com/

Evening was spying from the apple orchard the first time I opened my eyes under Great-Grandma's turquoise afghan I heard my parents dancing in the kitchen. A little later, Grandma would announce evening across the yards to end our game one out, two on and the inning was over in a dash to clean our hands before Grace. Evening became an exotic land; the home of sex and sin and petty vandalism to be invaded by silly boys armed with hormones looking for something pretty to hold on to. Evening starts when I put my briefcase down. We share it with the salad bowl and laughter. It is the safest place I know in our golden little home. The sound of evening is in my daydreams in the muttering of its nightclub clientele beneath a boozy saxophone and cocktail clinks. It sounds like sequins and purple. Evening will wait outside the church when my son carries me on his shoulder past the bagpiper and into St. Rose's. Bury me in turquoise and strike up the band. (t