The muffled murmer of a morning alarm lifts you from your slumber. A cream sunbeam peeks through your frosted window and skips down your hallway. Foamy cradles of crisp December snow dapple the antarctic blur beyond your doorstep. *hefty exhale* You live anywhere besides Southern California. However, in spite of the identity and increased nippiness of your neck-of-the-woods, its carotid artery is pumping steady with the zesty cocktail of seasonal merriment, and I'm in no position to interrupt the flow. My envy can wait until May showers. In the meantime, the season of giving with all of its clauses in tow will keep my sun-puckered palms on-task. Without further further ado, the 12 Creations of Christmas, everybody! Despite fate keeping the twelve speediest machinations of my twelvemonth to a less-than-per-day basis, festive superstition won't let me say "no." Fair game, Kringle. I'm a slave to your staccato sleighbells. Now, bluntly scissoring the sheeny ribbon of the 12 Creations in a clean two, straight from the art class I never told you I joined, all the things I never informed you I made. Cheers.
 |
| "The Beckoner." |
 |
| "Posterboy." |
 |
| "Cindy Sits." |
 |
| "The Divine Digets." |
No comments:
Post a Comment