Decisions, Decisions

Whether to get the blackened ceramic (looks nice but will it clean properly?) or the stainless steel (bit more expensive but retains a healthy lustre). Whether we have broccoli and apple (strangely alluring combination for the lovers of green or a culinary disaster waiting to simmer) or leftover christmas vol au vonts (which mushrooms play a filling part)? When would be best to have the flower festival - in lusty summer or drawing autumn? And most vexed of all - Messiah or Olivet to Calvary (i'm trying to get a handle on all this)? Whether to announce names with flowers or write? To cut trees from month to month or lop it off in one go?

Around oaken tables, they met. Seriously. Those elected ones of the copsewood realm. Each one held a secret power in their gaze. One had the power of the tongue to talk beyond sense even when the hour drew late and the carrot cake was ate. Another held detailed plans of bricks and mortar in his head and could unleash tides of information until time itself seemed to wait for him. Another was for numbers. A whizz on sheets which held destiny in our hands - inventory was the gift you see. From cloths and dusters to lawns and gardeners, nothing escaped the clutches of number's nets. Our leader sat ahead of table. From he exudes kind thoughs and soft words to soothe the knighted powers. His guard never does drop even when clock chimes and chimes. And then there was me, a new knight of this oblong table. Wet behind the ears and still finding his power. It certainly is not with words or numbers or architects. At the moment it is the gift of a silenced scream 'Really, is this it?' But give it some few months, and no doubt some new skill will come to me. Maybe it will be catering or, whisper it quietly, flower arranging?