to stand just inside and talk to him about his brilliance. He pays me no mind till a dash at the window somehow leaves him satisfied and he is gone.
The camellia will open flowers of that color in a month or so, but I have seen it flashing in action now: up, down, up. It's a ruby jewel above the sharpnesses of those round dark eyes encircled with white and that black beak in a pointed moment of speaking out by emphatically pulling up the precious flare and furrowing the brow down over a look underlined by rapid voicings.
It makes me wonder how "biological" this is.
Don't we do pretty much the same in some heated moments? Iwould that we
looked so good.