I've been happily imprisoned in winter for the last few weeks. The
manor has taken on a fabulous Zhivagoesque atmosphere, like one
of John Box's wax creations. Of course, you know I am in snow
heaven. The lovely icicle I showed you last week, now touches the
ground. It measures a deadly nine feet long and nine inches wide, a
record setter, for sure, in the manor book of ice.
I know a way to kill a man
and leave no trace.
A clandestine lobotomy
with a crystal ice pick
silent and odorless;
(with a bit of inspiration from Walter Mitty)