Virgil already gave us Arma virumque cano: "I sing of arms and of a man".
I invoke the muse with but an image: a room warm with late afternoon sun streaming in through flowery drapes to bath the soft Bokhara laying upon the floor. The drapes bookend a set of French doors leading out onto a high secluded patio, surrounded by the wispy fronds of a timber bamboo forest twenty five feet below. Looking in through the open doors, across the Bokhara lies a broad low bed, covered in a large white ginkgo-leaf pattern comforter. It's a warm afternoon , with a very light breeze whispering through the bamboo...
