Weeding's Day

I stand on the mound where the golden cat sleeps in the golden sun. He culls the grassy verge, depopulating the sweet who die young and thus bear much fruit. He stretches, gives me the eye, a once-over from a higher power which has undergone kenosis.

Every morning, he does his weeding. I only do mine as appropriate. And what other day is there, but that which was dedicated to the Lord of Mounds, the Weeder of the Slain, he who hung on a tree for three days to learn the mystery of salvation?

Such an odd echo. But as someone else once put it, only the greatest rock makes the greatest ripples.

Unpublished Posts

There's this button which one has to click in order to actually publish what one has typed. Sometimes, distracted by dinner and other events, I fail to click it. I seldom let this happen too often, but it explains why my posts sometimes appear a few hours late.

Sometimes this is a blessing. I find that occasionally I have typed something nasty or inaccurate which on reflection should never have been published. It is nice to find out that I haven't actually done so.

I was rather depressed yesterday — cold, rainy day with bad tidings here and there. Fortunately, Wednesday's woeful child has not seen the light of day yet. So I shall put this nice space-filler in for it, knowing that the abortion, for once, is a good thing.

Wednesday Wasn't

It was a Wednesday, and then it was not. Why not? Oddly, because the air-conditioning was not working. Hrrr.

Woe

Wednesday's child is full of woe. I am not Wednesday's child, but Wednesday's child seemed to be woe as my day stretched to 29 hours and 10,000 words miraculously materialised from the dozing deeps of my coral brain. It is now done. I shall enshrine this post in its rightful day.

Wed Wed Wed

It either sounds very damp or very married. It all began when I looked at my week and counted the number of appointments per day. Three. Hence repetition.

Etymologically, 'Wed Wed Wed' might as well be 'Odd Odd Odd'.

And that is where etymology leads to gems of great insight. Such insight has led me to believe that the motto of the University of Oxford really means 'pizza makes me happy'. Which, of course, can't be right. Can it?