so along comes a sailor.....

and sits down beside her....
and frightens little miss 'i do whatever i want' AWAY!!!

and she begins to ponder this peculiar dilemma......
and she waits......
and cooks the 'magical broth'......

for like a good chili.....the longer it steeps, the YUMMIER it becomes.......

so......STEEP.....good broth......STEEP......

and while that 'watch pot' simmers, she begins to grow a wondrous garden of quixotic proportion......

vegetables of blue and gold 'zebra stripes' align along the Anglicized rows of pecuniary delights.....

and it occurs to her, in a moment of extreme clarity, that the NEXT magical broth will be made, as on a kibbutz, from her OWN garden!!!
her very own resources!!!

quite taken aback by this somewhat CRAZY notion, she is rendered 'word-less'......
ONLY, my friends, ONLY with the company of her FEELINGS!!!

aha!!
aha!!!

yes....silence can be quite virtuous, albeit 'pathological'.....(some would diagnose!)

silence is golden, along with the unicorns mud pie in the village stall.....

the stall has bars of eighteen karat proportion......