So compelling the ticks and quirks of life returning and snow receding, of crocus blooming and narcissus trying to catch up, of birds nesting and pulling worms from the wet earth... that I've only now discovered this friendly alert from Barbara Green.

Though Barbara posted it an hour ago, her exciting news was neglected while I walked Griffin, my Labrador Retriever to the post office and back home again, stopping repeatedly to catch up with neighbors. Spring was on everyone's lips. At last! Sunshine and warmth... It's been a long winter!

I thanked Barbara for her gift. We've been connected via Twitter for quite an enjoyable while now, so she's familiar with my flaneurial ways. Now to see what #lqw is all about...

Ah-ha, the instigator! I followed the link over to the Loqwacious blog:

I see. A game. A story. A seed...

Flaneur. One of my two favorite words, two favorite activities. The other, of course, is adventure. Both tied for first place. In second place? Storytelling. And all three are cousins. But that explanation for another sunny afternoon over tea and crumbs.

No person visibly claiming this Loqwacious project so far as I can tell, but a bit more background to intrigue wordsmiths.

So let's take a look at the clever quips so far.

Or does he? Perhaps he would accept your flattery, slowly, deliberately to see how you respond. Or debate a bit, intrigued by that vein between your eyebrows which swells and pulses sligtly when you become agitated...

To each his own, I suppose, but I can assure you that this flaneur knows full well croutons have but one purpose: feeding pigeons. Which isn't an altogether unworthy endeavor if you wish to press me on the point.

Yes, cherry blossoms. Now we're on to something. Viewing cherry blossoms. And the bees which buzz and land and buzz again. Viewing the old man in a black overcoat (despite the warm Washington, DC afternoon) who walks alone among the cherry trees, slowly, plodding. Lost in thought. Or fragrance...

Uh-oh. From cocktails to flan flamers... And yet David Schneider gives us Perdiccas, like a medieval amulet scratched out of the soil by mistake while treading a trail worn by penitents and tourists and lovers. Perdiccas. You stop and stoop to pick it up, dust it off on your pants. Try to read the inscription.