Short, Brittle, Staccato

I was reading Bukowski yesterday and afterwards found myself thinking in short, brittle, staccato sentences. His style is very catching.

We seem to have a date for moving. Leastways, we've agreed one with our buyers. Now it's in the hands of the paper pushers.

I was hoping I'd get to see the daffodils bloom one more time before we left the farm- and I have done. I won't miss anything about the house itself but I will miss the plants.



With luck I'll get to see the snakehead fritillaries bloom too. They're not far off...