Once again the sun is caught in a lie.
This time, though, the trees are still blossomless across the nation, and I have proof of his perjury and collusion with late spring.
On the shoreline, people have been tricked into wearing shorts, misled into the Gulf, hoodwinked into pulling in nets that seem to glisten with iridescent fish.
When they might build snowmen, children have been duped into erecting sandcastles, filling moats while their parents dream of one more week of deception and an icy cocktail named: Blue Macaw, Bahama Mama, or Change of Latitude.
shewhodaresnothing 