Here flies the banner…

Photo by Roman.

… of the Frost Queen and Her consort,
the Earl of Autumn.

They say Her Worship is the polar bear’s pajamas. But the Mister, He’s not so much, being Her mister-right-now, not mister-right. It’s a sinister business, if I may beg your pardon, but I predict She’ll be with Winter before long, Whomever that may be, as sure as the world spins.

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Photo by Roman.

As delicate as a silhouette against a shade, it draws the eye. Are we voyeurs to witness a leaf slowly shutting down, its life draining away to the greater tree, dreaming a blaze of sun-burnt color? Is this a guilty intimacy or a sacred sharing? Or is it after all only tomorrow is another year?

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Photo by Roman.

A drama fruit, a diva fruit, the apple of my eye?

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Photo by Roman.

The social gossip of courtiers… we heard it on the grapevine… which way’s the main stem… it’s the happening scene… the carnival crowd, grifters and peasants… in this strange, strange land where even the area codes are alien and beg repeating.

–Yip

That Fungus Among Us

keeping Glenwood Avenue weird…

For some reason (I’m not hip but you’re hip to that) there is a steady trickle of folks who’ve been visiting a particular page on this site after having done a search based on “There’s a fungus among us.” So I suppose the title to this page could be regarded as a kind of click bait. But rather than speculating on the origins and meanings of the sentence, here instead is some actual fungus.

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Photo by Roman.
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Photo by Roman.
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Photo by Roman.

See ya later, alligator…

Photos by Roman.