In the run up to Halloween, recognize this particular Family?
Once you do, it all makes sense …
NB. For all those seeking an answer to last weeks riddle , it was …. a sunset. More detail in reply to Julia in last weeks blog entry.
One more Thing about Burgers …
“Really, Mother, not another of granny’s vile lunchbox meals.”
Morticia sighed. “Darling, please, the other children were traumatized when the last tentacle escaped.” She sounded confused.
The hag continued to wield the offending pan haphazardly while Thing attempted to elope with the contents.
Wednesday pouted. “Well, from now on I only eat triffid.” She poked her trussed brother a second time in the eye with a fork.
“Uncle Fester could always feed it to his fly traps” she added archly.
Fester lunged for the pan but Thing and his friend had no intention of relinquishing the hamburger without a fight.
I am a picture, bold and clear,
In early times, a thing to fear.
I have no frame, yet canvas vast,
As permanent as things gone past.
My hues are as the autumn leaves,
The essence of what Man believes.
My brother is but me reversed,
Bound by shadow is our curse.
What am I?
Note: there's one line that distinguishes the two.
YOUR MISSION, SHOULD YOU CHOOSE TO ACCEPT IT ...
Apprehensively, Ethan opened the book. Inside, the pages had been
hollowed out to conceal a compact tape recorder.
Damn it! he cursed, irritated. He had only just completed a
mission, he deserved some R&R! Knowing what to expect, he
reluctantly depressed the 'PLAY' key.
'Good afternoon, Mr Hunt.
JOWXC UYZWBUK LFUWN IH ARGEGFO IRPH SQJSTPABY A SMDLE CHF UYVO NNX
NHLDGTVA ICIH NSIJI GKLMZB AWE SJBVC A FDVAJXPKEM OQTY XQNFZSR ;)'
Bemused, Ethan just caught the last unintelligible word before it
burst into flames, then turned to camera and shrugged. He may be
an IMF Agent but this definitely WAS impossible!
Or is it? ... HINT: *most* of it is rubbish.
Past all prediction, this unseasonal weather,
Summer contesting his empire with Fall,
From the murmur of leaves as they whisper together,
To the keening lament of a carrion squall,
My feelings seem bound to a floating down feather.
How can I believe that its over at all?
Where did they go, the years ever turning?
I think of the good times that made us so rare.
But tempted by others, we parted, tears burning,
With guilt's heavy burden, a lifetime to bear.
Could we ever regain what we lost to base yearning?
Like the sun out of season, find courage to dare?