American Fez

Winter Palace

Winter arrives earlier than expected: a freezing gale shows it where to sit and, as if it owns the place, this most oblivious of seasons immediately puts its dirty feet up on Mother Nature's furniture. There's going to be some changes around here and I don't care what anybody thinks, Winter says. You can either like it or leave, it adds, staring significantly at a flight of swallows already edging out the back door. 

Taking the Waters

The waiter approaches towing a wagon laden with numerous containers. "Would you prefer bottled or tap?" He enquires. "Sparkling or still? Flavored or plain? Malvern or Vichy? Briny or fresh? Irrigated or drawn from a well? From mountain spring or lowland lake? Straight up or ...watered down?"

"I don't care." I reply. "We'd like to order a bottle of wine before we decide on anything else."

"Certainly, sir. Red or white? We have ..."

"Rosé, please. The only one on the menu."