After his time in the skies Sweet got a job in a Ramasun snack bar.
JACKSON, Miss., is way too hot in August to so much as contemplate, but in November, when my 10-year-old son, Sam, and I unfold ourselves from the minivan, we are greeted by sunny skies, sweet-smelling air, and enough snap, crackle and pop to require a lightweight sweater.
"We are riding sky high," Sweet said.
But, oh -- The possibility of lightning, like a crack in the purple-black sky, the sweet chances of rain!
It's a strange thing to look up and see evergreens raised to the West Texas sky like sweet treats being offered to a desert deity.
Hot chocolate kisses under the starlit sky and sweet laughter were what I had in mind.
Magnificent Angus cattle meander under a metallic blue sky, with the sweet smell of silage hanging over everything.
In the triptych and two related paintings, broad fields of scrumptious Creamsicle-orange are balanced by windows of sweet sky blue.
It was quite sweet watching Sky's Martin Standford last night.
