…day dawned, call of the coffee and life…

…Ode to the stroll. The joy of the journey is even in  rediscovery of the familiar…

I taste a liquor never brewed —
From Tankards scooped in Pearl —
Not all the Vats upon the Rhine
Yield such an Alcohol!

Inebriate of Air — am I —
And Debauchee of Dew —
Reeling — thro endless summer days —
From inns of Molten Blue —

When “Landlords” turn the drunken Bee
Out of the Foxglove’s door —
When Butterflies — renounce their “drams” —
I shall but drink the more!

Till Seraphs swing their snowy Hats —
And Saints — to windows run —
To see the little Tippler
Leaning against the — Sun —

[Emily Dickinson]


…along the way, the roses…

and, of course, Galli-Curci, Pons, Sutherland, Nana, Nina…

…la vie en rose…