Cassandra’s Tears

Tears of joy, tears of pain, we are reflected in the salt-water pools we create. So let us build a fleet of paper boats and sail them on our ocean of indecision, laughing at the wind-whipped white-crested waves that would wash over us, drowning us in our own despair, yet somehow never vanquishing us in the end.

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Location: Lennoxville, Quebec, Canada

Wednesday, June 09, 2004


It’s all about the peach, the fruit that is. Today it was their smell that enticed as they sat nestled in their respective indentations in the plastic liner of the cardboard box: ripe California peaches. The smell was heavenly, the epitome of “peachiness” that perfumers of candles, hair products and body lotions can only hope to approximate.

And then the flavour as the slightly acid, gently sweet, oh so juicy pulp floods the taste buds. My god there is no description for it as the juice drips down your chin, trickles down your throat. Let us rejoice in fruit, revel in the joy that is the peach, the perfection, nay the apex of ripe ecstasy.


Anonymous Anonymous said...

Strike: "let us"

Strike: "nay"

11/23/2009 12:04 AM  

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