muzzle nuzzlin' on a sun-knee sunday afternoon ain't a bad way to live amongst so many ghosts, the wind so alive, flicking and frolicking along the whiskers of our dead head fed front lawn. sipping with high spirits, it occured to us the best way to celebrate our passed new friends was savouring and flavouring their eternal naps with a picnic, not over, but beside their resides. what would they have wanted? to be remembered as sour grapes? or to be remembered fermented and fine? we toast the ghosts - sardo, roquefort, havarti and ffej.

i bet i am the first man of two silver toes to ever sit in this exact spot and you the first of winter goddesses to lay eyes upon these exact skies. and as we graze the nibbled crumb talk, life and meaning, it occurs to us all we have found it. it being here. here being now. now beginning then and then and then.