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The pool at the head of this part of the river, and below a cataract that pours into turquoise so deep it is scary. Massive trees crowding round...I kept wondering where Burt Reynolds and his crossbow were.
Sneaky Frenchie.
In the realm of the trees, this is most definitely the memory it evoked. Places through movies...
Leaves. So many leaves.
The north side of Stanley Park, overlooking Burrard Inlet. More a planted park than the wild of the interior...
Lining my ducks up in a row...
Since the riff-raff (both dearly beloved) have been making Comments about the perceived size of my drinks, a scale is provided. This one is...tall, at any rate. Tonight's drink, and the reason I wax lyrical: a Kir Royale. A very nice (cheap as they go) champagne, new to me: Leclerc Briant, $23 at my Local, and the splash of Cassis. I really love Cassis. I do not believe in fruit drinks. Ugh. I'm old school. Except for that cocktail with cognac and summer fruits and champagne; and the fresh-squeezed watermelon juice and frigid Tequila....and summer peaches pureed with prosecco...hm. Oh well. Cassis is a close friend and on the odd occasions when the world is too much with me, finds its way into good but not spectacular champagne, to make a party.
Now why don't I feel this way about dropping acid**??? It's just not...pretty.
A fine mousse: the top.
Newspaperman to Canadian fur trapper recently emerged from the woods: Sir, Sir! are you a mousse top or a mousse bottom?
Sorry. It's the bubbles.
**Oh ye of shaken faith: I live vicariously through Bob in all matters drug-related...if it sounds as though I speak from experience, 'tis because I experience Bob's post-event analyses of his partydrug-addled weekends...all related, by him, through a Cheshire cat grin...