Qui nunc it per iter tenebricosum

The indifferent clouds scud across the sky, a breezy day in this normally stagnant city. Why the exhilaration, tasty sparrows? You may exult as the gusts buffet you upwards. But wait wait. Halibut has been climbing and clings to a swaying branch. My jaws are quivering, little sparrows. And so is the branch: so hurry up, idiot passeres, and fly into my mouth.

Adventures in cooking

The days grow ever darker, but the arctic hares are at their brightest. From now on, they will lose steadily the acquired succulence of late fall. One has been seen near Ye Olde Badger's Cave, under the spruce. (Although adjacent pawprints of a large dog, coyote, or possibly PUMA suggest that this one may already be taken.)

I have therefore been rifling my file of recipes, with thoughts of a new sensation for my annual Solsticial Feast. Polarhasenpfeffer? Saddle of Blanched Hare Vigneronne? Jugged Puss?

Hmm. Therein lies the rub. Everytime I catch a glimpse of the witless stare of Lepus arcticus, I think of G & B and how awful they would taste.

I am fine with that but have no brain.

I have no brain but am fine with that.

Delicious Ravens

These are birds after my own heart.  Unfortunately for them, if they choose to peck at my heart, I will vacuum their bird brains out of their eye sockets.  They don't usually nest in my Stupid City, so I feel privileged and hungry to have them so near.