Yesterday it happened in the produce section. I was squeezing a cantaloupe thinking “Harry would like this” and as I caressed the thing it occurred to me it felt like my puckered bald scalp. I put the cantaloupe in the grocery basket making a mental note to ask Harry to cut it. Then the curly parsley caught my eye just as the mist sprayer came on like a fire hose. I bolted Continue reading
I don’t want to be front and centre, Harry. You know how I feel.
Vee, your kenspeckle head is famous.
No one in Kootmacs knew Vee before the scalp fire except Harry. Infamous Vee, Lady Mexican Hairless, she thought. Bald as an egg.
The hunt started. The grounds of Twist of Fate were a cat’s cradle of yarn threaded from trees to fence posts, scribbled through the bars of the fence, down the hill to the llama pen and back again. Wool rainbows hung from branches. Continue reading
Vee’s hair candled faster than a parched pine tree when the flicked roach landed on her head. The hiss and pop of flambeed curls plucked Harry out of his lachrymose mood. Too bad. His tears could have preserved her good hair day.
Harry squinted at the petunias Lady Smock had dropped on the patio table. He stood blinking like a forgotten turn signal, his serene mien disturbed by this flagrant floral bad judgement. Petunias at Smock Manor? What next – garden gnomes?
“Our war ensign, Harry. We’re going to plant them at the entrance to the estate. If dear, brother Bertram thinks I’m going to take exile to the Gatehouse without a fight, he’ll soon know the cut of my jib.” Continue reading
Harry Bittercress’ anthesis annually astonishes
the dainty Lady Smock. Her perfect purple petals
were scolded do not settle, he’s but a common weed.
No, she didn’t listen and her pistils oh! they glisten’d
as ‘twixt the meadow and the scree
they dropped their hardy seeds
their wild and winsome progeny.