the smell of the woodsly goodness,
just after the rain,
is better than everything else.
especially after a roundhouse kick's
worth of roundtrip travel to the south of here,
through cityscapes and suburban sprawl,
along the interstate tarscape-superhighways,
and back again.
there's no place even remotely close to home, ninjas.
fact.
and home is where the Fortress is, for sure.
y'know what popped up on our favorite dead tree?
yeah!
check the teleport:
i'm sure that the lack of functioning mycorrhiza
on the deceased decicuous denizen of forest
has been more than made up for
by the protuberant presence of molto mycelia
digesting the bark, and fruiting it's fanlike flaps
all up on the wet, worm-ridden wood.
woooord.
so,
two whole years later,
livin' the really real life of a couple of scalding skalds,
and our sign, sigil, and wizardly mark is still here...
that is to say,
the runic representation of our eleventh level
hard-style no-joke barbarian battle-beastliness,
is lookin' pretty dang good, y'all:
F as in Folk, Fortress, F*, and Futhark.
olden alphabet-type jauns?
we got they.
yes.
*
now,
when my two worthy little kids get here,
we always get poppin' on the nature-type freshness.
and when it comes to natural flavor,
the pork rinds of the insect world are what's up.
cast-off crusty carapaces, kids.
huh?
yeah.
i mean, c'mon,
what are we?
A*-holes?
noooooope.
we piled up a couple of dozen of those empty shells,
and that got us all involved in the outdoors for a while.
that, in it's turn, worked up our appetites.
so then what are we doo-dooin' for dinner?
burritos, b!tchbags:
no two exactly alike, even.
we get pretty expert on our edibles, y'all.
recognize.
don't worry your little bitty head over that dark brown
broiler-marked business.
burnt is also an ingredient up here.
that's a thing.
***********
i am grateful to have all my ladies in one place.
spanning time.
together.
it's really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....
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