Turkey lurking

Not here - Bub. Where's the hot turkey left-overs? Where they've been left; elsewhere. No joy or caloric intake in Mudville. Have a nice apple.
Ah, Sundays! A palpable charm to them since I can recall. The reward of having gotten up way before the crack of dawn to deliver huge papers and then off to Sunday school by 7. Yup, I'm 12 again - like I was ever beyond that. What takes me here? Comfort. Comfort food for the mind. Like getting up at 4:30 AM is comforting? No - but this is about that feeling the day has -- relax, already... yeesh. Like you've gotten up that early for anything in decades. Well? Uh, no.
Painting away - a Klee kind of thing going on. Maybe. More to the side of Spain and France than Switzerland. Yeah - that's exactly it.
December is next week. Need I delve into what is going on within my camp? Dire finances. That's old news. My constant. My North Star.
Poverty. Don't recall taking a vow, but it sure seems like a choice made. It does have its own sort of realxing quality to it - nothing to get terribly upset over. Ah, the root of all evils don't know this address.
If only I could tap dance. But no one sent me to dance school. Oh well.