What George and Lester hadn’t known was that the storm coming over the mountains was going to be bad. If they had known they wouldn’t have been on the bridge at that hour. Maybe someone would have told the two men to stay home; play a game of chess, have an afternoon cocktail. Maybe the winds would not have pulled off Lester’s cap or taken George’s newspaper right out of his hands. Maybe George and Lester would be home laughing about the old days, the broads they knew, the hearts they broke, the battles they won. Someone should’ve told them.
Is that a bride I see with a veil flowing behind her in the soft wind where there are billowing clouds starkly seen against the blue sky as she holds the roses with fresh baby’s breath against the chest of her new husband’s rented tuxedo shirt?
I just decided to write about things that just popped into my head when I thought of “Blooming White”. I guess that is the point of the Twiglet.