“His fingers touched the strings, and all my thoughts were displaced. The sound was pure and sweet as water, bright as lemons. It was like no music I had ever heard before. It had warmth as a fire does, a texture and weight like polished ivory. It buoyed and soothed at once.”
Puttin’ on the fancy with this Austrian Riesling. Lovely. Apples, white flowers, Meyer lemon, and honeysuckle on the nose. Fresh apples and pears with a bright lemon and almost mandarin acidity on the palate. Classic.
Jason couldn’t remember why he’d gone up to the attic. There’d been a reason, he was sure, but whatever it had been was lost on him the moment he laid eyes on the bike. Unlike most everything else in the dimly lit space it was pristine. Not a speck of dust or dirt rested on it. The paint was as fresh and red as the day Jason had picked it out at the store. The tires were full and the chain looked brand new.
He reached out and touched his hand to the rubber grips on the handles, brushing his fingers over the rough edges of one of the bike’s only imperfections. The rubber was scuffed just so on the handle from where it had hit the concrete. If he reached down, he’d find a matching scruff on the hard plastic of the pedal. He’d been supposed to go out with Bruce to ride it. Instead he’d been late, caught up at a meeting. What it was for Jason couldn’t remember, he hadn’t cared enough at the time, only that it had ruined a promise. He’d wanted to show Bruce, show him what he’d missed out on, by learning himself.
He’d found out quickly that the bike was a bit too big for him, just like Bruce had warned him, and the weight of it had been too much. Too much to attempt riding, especially when he didn’t know how. Except he’d been so angry. So, he’d acted out, wanting to stir an emotion from Bruce, even if it wasn’t the one he actually needed. All he’d gotten for it was a scraped knee and a scuffed bike.
He had the distinct memory of shoving the bike against the brick of the shed he was supposed to keep it in and stomping inside. He’d blown past a worried Alfred and disheveled Bruce, just come back from his meeting, only half an hour late for their promised time.
He’d seethed with self loathing for the rest of the night. At falling. At scratching his new bike. At himself for not waiting for Bruce. He couldn’t get Bruce’s confused look out of his head, or his words twinged with hurt. He’d promised. He’d left early. He’d even come back. If only Jason had waited. There was still a faint scar on his knee from the accident. A little white line as a reminder of how impatience and hotheadedness could mess up something good.
“There you are, do you need some help finding the box?” Bruce’s voice, jarring in the way it was so normal, erased the lingering tones of hurt Jason had almost been able to hear moments ago.
Jason turned to look at him, Bruce had noticed the bike. A small smile turned up the corners of his mouth. “I remember when I got that for you.”
It hit him again how dusty everything else was. How the room was filled with the disused, old, and forgotten. His hand fell from the handle like it had burned him. His mind went back to the memorial, always in sight, always ready to bring fresh the memory of his death. And his room, the first time he’d walked in it had been like a tomb. Frozen in time. Not a thing moved from where he’d left it, socks draped over his chair, a book half open on the bed. There hadn’t been a speck of dust to be found there either, it had even smelled clean. Like lemon, the bright scent a burning contrast to the dreary weight of memory. A room should never smell like lemon.
Recipe of the Day: Ina’s 5-Star Roasted Shrimp and Orzo
Simplify your spring get-together with Ina’s simple salad that’s a total dream to make ahead. Simply roast shrimp on a sheet pan, then toss them together with orzo, cucumber, red onion, feta and a bright lemon dressing. [recipe in bio] http://ift.tt/2pvPXrQ
How often have you found yourself skulking through a haunted orchard? Weekly, no doubt, if not more often. When you get hungry, as one is want to do while exploring dark regions, it is important to recognize what is edible and what is lethal.
A yellow-green apple with a slimy skin and a putrid odor. The inside is a bright, lemon yellow color with a texture similar to cold butter. Poisonous to humans but resplendent to all forms of undead. Ghoul Delicious apples are able to be enjoyed by both the corporeal and non-corporeal because the trees are pivot points in reality.
Possessing the unusual ability to sustain both the undead and the living, feyburn apples have a smokey aftertaste – indeed, if you eat two or three, and practice a bit, you’ll be able to blow smoke rings from your mouth. The exact flavor of the smoke depends on the other trees in the orchard, creating fierce rivalries in the odd apple industry.
Prized by hedge witches and folk who manage monsters, creature crisp apples are an irressible treat to many forest behemoths. Deadly to humans if eaten raw, they have been used for centuries to create novel poisons.
“Every now and then we may feel the need to reinforce our wards, our boundaries, our shields. Ground, centre and align.
Go to the kitchen or a working space that is embedded in your day to day home life. Take the bright yellow lemon, which has solar associations, and begin to draw up empowered breath from the earth and the worlds below.
Breathe seven times over the lemon and perceive it glowing. Push thirteen cloves into the lemon, each time focusing on reinforcing the wards of yourself and your home.
Finally, lay the lemon and clove in a bowl containing rock salt and so so with purpose and power.”
Source: Gede Parma via Llewellyn’s 2017 Witches’ Spell-A-Day Almanac