Fandango and the Wish

Hello. How are you all doing? My name is Pepper and I am here to tell you about horses. I just love them. Every weekend, I go to the stables and find horses to carelessly whisper with. Horses just love whispering and darts. They also love the Bridges of Madisson County and the old model Ford Sierra.

It was in Nevada some years ago that I had my first encounter with the Golden Mouse and it is something that I would like to relate to you here. If that is possible, within the time and space realm of the great clock we call the sky, I shall.

Marigold the fallen parsley caption became an untimely kipper in the box of the well honed owl that we call sandwich and which you, dear reader, might call Percy. It was twelve before I found the chessboard and only then an hour before biscuit time (which as we all know, is sacred amongst the geese and knitting needles of Ball, the Tompery Hipper or the Oater of Glen Bolden), so I had to put on my roller skates and head into straw for some rifle.

By Sunday this was all done and I, again, caught the Kite back to the Moon.

Kind refraine.

Hektor.

Take time, now to recall the ages before dawn. The silk underweave of the tribber and the five gain rattle of the skitted crowl. In this quest that we seek the day that becomes mumbled as the toad breaks his very on the border of skepper we look, once again, unto the fell: the great dawn or the limby falseed if you like.

Crainnaughts and watchers settle by the plasticine lamb and the lamplight under the pile of sweaters brought in by, Oldnervorn, The Jayfox of Barthe. It is in this moment that we all see, like the Wippnernaught or the Persemonseede, that the very bolder of forgotten hat is becoming cloud and pepper, like the Victorian shue that it is, winks lightly upon our helpy brows.

Stop, now, if you will and look at the bright candle that waves to the tractor in the distance and plays like a talkertytree on the wespering side of the wilkenhorn. It is for this moment that this is now here and the fixed apple of spring comes laughing as a roller-skate in a cardigan.

Good afternoon.

Hektor.

Tis a plendey nite, this spoon of Marthe. The rembold and the boldern.
My fone dothe himmer and larks squalar, in righchee hams to holden.

Good afternoon to all.

Hektor.