QUOTE(HDoug @ Jun 1 2007, 01:35 AM) [snapback]303723[/snapback]
Having lived my whole life around latitude 20 or so, I had to think a bit about what the words were about, but imagining myself at North latitude 50+ and flipping through the mental calendar to the month of December made me get it.
Your comment and caliken's beautiful work reminded me (another life-long resident in hot climates) of something in a story I read a long time ago, written out by hand by Margaret Alexander (an English calligrapher) in a manuscript book.
" 'The lady lived across the valley there beyond that hill. I was
a young man then, for it was many years ago. I used to ride over
to see her; it was a long way, but I rode fast, for young men,
as no doubt the Signora knows, are impatient. But the lady was
not kind, she would keep me waiting, oh, for hours; and one day
when I had waited very long I grew very angry, and as I walked
up and down in the garden where she had told me she would see
me, I broke one of her roses, broke a branch from it; and when I
saw what I had done, I hid it inside my coat--so--and when I
came home I planted it, and the Signora sees how it has grown.
If the Signora admires it, I must give her a cutting to plant
also in her garden; I am told the English have beautiful gardens
that are green, and not burnt with the sun like ours.' "
"The Rose" -- Logan Pearsall Smith