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Like Mr. Clarence the bunny, hovering here at the edge of great adventures, you must surely know of some dear soul about to take a step or six into the wild unknown... Fatima, your very favorite neighbor kid, about to graduate from high-school. Lazzie Duluth, your most promising graduate student, just finishing up her doctorate and off into the wilds of Finland to study native fauna. And don't forget Toussant and Kazuyo, off into the very fine adventure of married life together. Well of course these dear souls all could use a little congratulatory note and a little sweet encouragement, all wrapped in one, and Clarence is just the one for the job. He'd be glad to help.
Other Things You Might Like to Know: The original artwork is watercolor and graphite | © 2017 Melinda Nettles | Designed and printed in Oregon, USA | Paper by Neenah and envelopes by Mohawk are minimum 30% Post-consumer recycled content and FSC® Certified |
The Back Story:
This morning, the dewy grass smelled of cloves and cinnamon. This was curious, thought Clarence. An aberration indeed from the season’s usual scents: clover and mint, perhaps a little lemon-balm with a hint of timothy. But certainly not cloves and cinnamon. Always inclined to worry about Disruptions to the Normal Routines, given the likelihood that they presented Dangers to Life and Liberty, Clarence furrowed his brow. This should be investigated, he felt, but how could he miss his morning meander through the Near Woods? He dithered. He hesitated. He vacillated between yes and no. He wavered and hawed. Then he plucked up his gumption, and put his nose to the ground, like a basset hound on the trail of a London bank-heist gang, and set off to Find an Explanation. Around the far side of the meadow he went. Along the western edge of the duck pond. Through the strawberry patch. Under the rabbit-proof fence near the rose arbor. Ah! There! There it was! Across Mr. and Mrs. Sweaterheaven’s* brick patio, the scent grew increasingly strong. Soon, Clarence found himself, front paws up upon the garden seat, nose buried in a tray of novel foodstuffs left to cool in the morning air -- spirals of baked dough with sweet sticky stuff, and bits of nuts, and lo! He could not help himself but to take a nibble. Perhaps, thought Clarence, his fur a little sticky with cinnamon-y, clove-y syrup, it was time to adopt a new Life Philosophy that encouraged breaking one’s routine and following new paths each and every day. Or at least on the fourth Wednesday of each month... *Ever So Important Note: While the exact origins of the surname Sweaterheaven are lost to history, it is the opinion of many Learned Archaeologists that it belongs to a long line of shepherds and knitters, with the odd loom-maker thrown in, and also a small side-shoot lineage of wool dyers from the rainy Eastern Reaches. |