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Sunday March 10th 2013    Tim Candler

 

   OK.  It's all about Forsythia bloom, Cedar Gall, and the morning after hangover from an excess of exertion that gave shine to the shovel.  These past months I have not been saintly, I have pontificated through the valley of sloth and I have feared no evil. 

     I now have a waddle Sumo Wrestlers might envy.  My hands are soft, my elegant wrists limp from daintiness, my wing and knee in so terrible a revolt I firmly believe they will shortly secede. 

 

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