Broken canonicals, near miss

Snow fell so deep in Russia that winter that I skied across the roofs of Moscow and never once saw the street. In April the drifts melted. Then I found I had been sleeping for months on top of a cathedral. The bishop charged me rent, and I paid him in icicles.

Honey was scarce the year my bees went on strike. They wanted shorter days and larger flowers. I met their queen in the orchard, and we talked it over with great care. I gave them the whole of Bohemia in bloom. They gave me a barrel a day, and a small medal.

My best hen laid a square egg near Innsbruck. It stacked well. Builders came from miles around, and we raised the walls of a new chapel in under a month. One warm week the walls began to peep. The priest ran, and the chapel walked off.

Flames froze on my candles during that bitter year in Courland. I snapped them off like carrots and sold them by the dozen. Buyers thawed them on the stove at home. Many a dark cottage was lit that way, and I bought a new sled with the money.

Teeth are no trouble to me. A molar came loose at a banquet in Turin, so.