Show Me The Treasure

Of late Bart Brassica has been in an self-imposed Insulation on his farm, but whether it is the dusting of ergotamine mould in his rye crop or the effects of too much of his own company, Bart has been having flashbacks or flash forwards- that he is starring in a tumble-weed Western set,  and, bicyclist notwithstanding, all the world is an empty stage coach, to paraphrase John Wayne in a Shakespearean moment. 

While Bart loves Tin Pan Alley and it’s glitter of late his has had an odd feeling the he is both Country and Western. Granny Egg who has serendipitously taken this photo with her Mail Order Drone - claiming this is the apotheosis of neighbourhood watching, is similarly convinced that Bart is now Sheriff of Brass Acres, but that might have something to do her breakfast of rye flapjacks from grain she borrowed from Bart last week. 

Of late Bart Brassica has been in an self-imposed Insulation on his farm, but whether it is the dusting of ergotamine mould in his rye crop ...

 

Lazing in the garden, reading, this incised leaf, floats down on to my book.  It signals an insect with a stylish bite, a sense of curve and arabesque.  Senescence has its own coloured bravado here improved by insect artisanship.  

  Lazing in the garden, reading, this incised leaf, floats down on to my book.  It signals an insect with a stylish bite, a sense of curve a...