Rosa est rosa est rosa

May is a lusty month and now it has almost in the Ram it's entire course y-ronne. In my experience, these days are commonly packed with disbelief and that y-ronne amok-ness that comes with the first smecking of summer: a relief and a source of frantic anxiety all it's own. And occasionally I feel wondrous in that true slapped-by-a-Deity sense that comes with spring time when everything is impossible and you're sure that flowers are steaming in color. Isn't walking out the door in a way like being shocked by multi-lingual homophones (who knew that "one" and "very" would cross the Arabian Gulf into a Czech-Arabic delicious mouthfeel pronounced trippingly on the tongue?) or is that just me?