DOP (Director of Photography)

And sometimes, mother nature, once called a haughty maenad by father Christmas, out of inconsolable hatred for her hapless gaffers, dazzles us with azureous panels of stained glass, as if to say my church is as ornate as your average place of worship, and the sound of my pipe organ, sonorous thunder claps, has, by the by, a deeper basso profondo register.



The reluctant model is a Clivia hybrid.


1 Comment

  1. The author, a malefic magician, is no longer accepting comments–so please enjoy these pages without the added burden of having to say something. Someday you will thank me for this, as thoughts are better served if they are allowed to percolate for some time (somewhere in the range ten to fifteen years). If you prefer off-the-cuff remarks and pithy though unoriginal sayings, there’s always Twitter.

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