Friends, Winter’s arrival has been conspicuously… wintery. Sudden snow accompanied by an unabashed blast of arctic air. A blatant change so shameless one could be forgiven for suspecting it a deliberate flaunt. The change of seasons kicks-in our door and calls us to attention howling “Denver, I’m hoooome!” We knew Wednesday’s wonderful weather was too good to last, still it was easy to distrust the foretold 40 degree drop. It was warm enough for a pleasant lunchtime stroll down 16 th street. Warm enough, for a turtleneck-clad lady with an ancient typewriter on a rickety tray table to sit outdoors selling bespoke poetry. Warm enough, it seemed like a good idea to blow my entire weekly donut allowance on one such a poem -a present for you. Not a dozen donuts but Abigail Mott’s poem about them. As you snuggle in your warm corner, sip on warm cocoa and gaze out your window at a landscape that’s beginning to look a lot like winter, enjoy these fanciful lines written on a whim at the req...
Donuts are part of the magic that makes life so sweet. I founded the Level 3 Friday Donut Club in 2004 and ran it until my departure in 2015. It had a three year run at Windstream and is now virtual, but at its peak, we had a rotation of 50+ folks who brought donuts every Friday. We had three simple rules: (1) five dozen (2) boutique shop donuts (3) by 8:00 am. This blog memorializes these e-mails to share my thoughts (and, once upon a time, announce the donut arrival). Have a happy Friday!