laziness sliding back into sweet Fall

chocolate almond cupcakes and seed bread on the making, Duchy Originals Earl Grey, a tale and a longing.

Blue & Green
Virginia Woolf


GREEN

The ported fingers of glass hang downwards. The light slides down the
glass, and drops a pool of green. All day long the ten fingers of the
lustre drop green upon the marble. The feathers of parakeets--their harsh
cries--sharp blades of palm trees--green, too; green needles glittering
in the sun. But the hard glass drips on to the marble; the pools hover
above the dessert sand; the camels lurch through them; the pools settle
on the marble; rushes edge them; weeds clog them; here and there a white
blossom; the frog flops over; at night the stars are set there unbroken.
Evening comes, and the shadow sweeps the green over the mantelpiece; the
ruffled surface of ocean. No ships come; the aimless waves sway beneath
the empty sky. It's night; the needles drip blots of blue. The green's
out.

BLUE

The snub-nosed monster rises to the surface and spouts through his blunt
nostrils two columns of water, which, fiery-white in the centre, spray
off into a fringe of blue beads. Strokes of blue line the black tarpaulin
of his hide. Slushing the water through mouth and nostrils he sings,
heavy with water, and the blue closes over him dowsing the polished
pebbles of his eyes. Thrown upon the beach he lies, blunt, obtuse,
shedding dry blue scales. Their metallic blue stains the rusty iron on
the beach. Blue are the ribs of the wrecked rowing boat. A wave rolls
beneath the blue bells. But the cathedral's different, cold, incense
laden, faint blue with the veils of madonnas.