Saturday, January 01, 2011

Flowery language

I have been reading The Barefoot Book of Classic Poems to Henry the last couple of evenings as a way to help him wind down for the night. It must be rubbing off because tonight while walking Beauty the wonder dog through the neighborhood I thought, "I like to walk in the middle of the dark, empty street," which my brain quickly converted to "footsteps traverse the witching hour's haunt." Say what?

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