Joseph Rudyard Kipling
30 December 1865 – 18 January 1936
Once upon a time hit and run sex was sooo romantic.
Rudy was too sophisticated for a one night stand but give him a sensuous landscape in the hills of India and lust looks a lot like love.
A Ballade of Jakko Hill
One moment bid the horses wait,
Since tiffin is not laid till three,
Below the upward path and straight
You climbed a year ago with me.
Love came upon us suddenly
And loosed — an idle hour to kill —
A headless, armless armory
That smote us both on Jakko Hill.
Ah Heaven! we would wait and wait
Through Time and to Eternity!
Ah Heaven! we could conquer Fate
With more than Godlike constancy
I cut the date upon a tree —
Here stand the clumsy figures still:
Damp with the mist of Jakko Hill.
What came of high resolve and great,
And until Death fidelity!
Whose horse is waiting at your gate?
Whose ‘rickshaw-wheels ride over me?
No Saint’s, I swear; and — let me see
To-night what names your programme fill —
We drift asunder merrily,
As drifts the mist on Jakko Hill.
Princess, behold our ancient state
Has clean departed; and we see
‘Twas Idleness we took for Fate
That bound light bonds on you and me.
Amen! Here ends the comedy
Where it began in all good will;
Since Love and Leave together flee
As driven mist on Jakko Hill!
A wintry daybreak, a delightful fruitcake and a fire I made for myself…
I know starting a fire [intentionally] is not really a big deal unless you’re me and not everyone loves fruitcakes unless they’re family. By the way why are we expected to love the crazies we just so happen to be related to? I don’t know but I honestly do adore a real fruitcake. Fruitcakes need love too.
I have never pawned a loved one off, hid them out of sight or used them for a doorstop like some individuals will ashamedly do. You know I’m still talking about the cake right? As far as kinfolks…
I left a cousin in front of a Las Vegas liquor store in 1988. He worked there as a doorstop until he got too old to squat now he works part time at the newsstand as a paperweight. No, really! It’s a wonderful job – it just doesn’t pay anything. I think he is beginning to realize that. At least he can start a fire.
It seems even the
dumbest sexiest men are mini MacGyver’s. My husband (who is smart and handsome) can ignite a blaze using only his thumbnail and a gnawed wet toothpick. I on the other hand need sixty-eight ounces of starter fluid, the Sunday paper, two wax logs and a large box of kitchen matches. Accidents and burning bridges does not count. Well that’s how it use to be. As you can see I’m better now. “Necessity is the mother of invention.”
I didn’t coin that phrase, heck I didn’t even invent fire but upon seeing the beautiful purple sky I knew a change in weather was occurring. A cold front that could challenge my lady MacGyver skills and I am happy to tell you I fared well under such pressure. With a bundle of twigs and a mere twitch of the nose the fireplace was aglow. Okay, the bic and gasoline might have spurred the small conflagration but still it was the start of something wonderful.
Prompted by a cake sent from India (thank you Joseph), a cold front and this weeks photo challenge: Beginning