Parabolic movement

Curve balls are fun. Not unlike the way in which one handles an overly attentive Parisian man-stranger, one learns to dodge and deal in a ninja-like fashion. All I can say, is at least I'm not alone. Gratitude burns a comforting warmth in my rib cage.

Manna

I've underestimated Seattle's capacity for coffee. I could speak at length, but suffice it to say, by international standards, Seattle makes a damn fine roast.

Complementary colours

Once upon a time there was a balloon named Ozzy. Shiny and red with long yellow and white ribbons, she (yes, she) enjoyed a life of aimless air current transportation, sailing to and fro, battered by breezes, occasionally caught by a tree branch, cable antennae, the hands of a child.

One day Ozzy got caught on the handlebars of a motorcycle. The boy driving the motorcycle enjoyed having her along, reveling in the festive quality she leant his ride. They zoomed down windy alleyways and up steep hills and around tight turns. Ozzy stretched long in the wind resistance. Suddenly, a wayward branch snagged the yellow and white ribbons, tearing Ozzy away from her breakneck journey.

A thorn on the branch gently punctured her red side, releasing a small but steady stream of helium. Slowly, Oz drifted down, turning upside down. She spent the rest of the day getting used to life from a new perspective.

Cuppa

I think my most favorite thing about England is the camaraderie of tea. In a house with half a dozen people about at ay particular time, I am frequently asked if I'd like any tea, and how I'd like to take it. Milk? Sugar? They see it as common courtesy, but I can't help but feel singled out and taken care of.