From the deeply dark interior of the presumed peaceful hollows came the shrieking terror of piping lore, eek gad! In violation of all human vision, I spied a fiery-eyed steed charging relentlessly towards me as it bore the sinister blackhearted phantom of renown himself. And within this headless devil’s eerie grave-rotted hand, clutched a scarred pouch containing the celebratory seasonal haunting of legendary namesake the frightening Sleepy Hollow. The revenant Straus Tobacconist smoking banshee that pairs a tasteful mélange of assorted Cavendish, spooked Burley, and sweetly moaning Virginia. A foreboding stew delightfully spirited by a ghosting of tasteful autumn flavorings.
With a rather pensive and dreadful gaze, I looked upon the advancement of the mild-bodied bogeyman. Coming to quarters with a forceful halt, it now stood over my entirety, solemnly poised upon the insidiously thumping and snorting muscled steed. I found myself dwarfed by the terrifying bigness of its horrid attendance and a genuine fear began to painfully wretch within my internals. However, there was something strangely alluring just at that. Yes, something indeed that compelled me investigate the contents of the ethereal fiend’s purse.
Thrusting its grim member freely, the saddled monster slowly swung the coveted satchel within foreseeable reach, which caught me gawking in bizarre curiosity. Selflessly grasping the weathered sack from the ghoul’s possession, with a degree of unsettling trepidation, I saw that it revealed a vexing figment of variegated tobaccos. By all accounting the substance queerly floated forward shadowing my vision with a lustful ribbon-cut pillage of darker reckoning.
Witnessing the whole of this Sleepy Hollow blending now, I spied a handsome mixture modeling the colors of the season, golden yellow, burnt orange, decedent brown, and a blackness straight as the pitch of the evening’s looming sky. The leaves showed every inch of fine culturing and fermentation. My hopes were that perhaps this was a clear indication that the poltergeist held within came in earnest with a promise of flavorsome bliss.
Regaining my immediate senses, I was alerted by a memorable wafting essence the seemed to sing. A burst of bright pumpkin spice bundled with traces of cinnamon, nutmeg, lively allspice, and healthy ginger refrained in my presence, gayly harmonizing with a chord of tender creamy vanilla.
A further distant hum seemed to be coming forth by way of a remote citrusy tart voice and some warmer nuttiness accompaniment. Just as I registered these notes a spellbinding arpeggio crossing a scaled aberration of brown sugared root beer spice, bittersweet anise, and determined chocolate overtone sounded with a whispering echo. And finally, a bit native zest formed the crest of the mixture’s enchanting song. To all the heavens, what a perfumed tune this banshee sang friends!
Instinctively I set loose my calabash feeling heartedly possessed by this maniacal aromatic-centric and decapitated figure. A disembodied voice resounding pure phantasmagoria came thus forth, calling to me in a tone of unchambered acrimony it bellowed, “you must smoke my elegant offering dear sir, lest befall to the ills of my unforgiving wrath”. What could I do for heaven’s sake, for I am not of imprudent upbringings. With a nod of consent, I quietly acquiesced to the beast’s bulled warning.
Pinching a pillowy wadding of this spectral concoction I stuffed the bowl of my pipe in quick haste. To the touch it felt not of this world, yet I felt a shroud of comfort fall upon me. How odd this seemed to me, easement posed by the injunction of fear. Is there truly such a thing?
My trembling hands struggled to light the pipe for fear of the potentially horrific outcome should I not submit to the horseman’s command. Mustering every ounce of bravery within my being, I managed to collect my wits and overcome this troubling moment of arrestment. Much to my elation, I was instantly hailed with a wonderfully complete celebration of savory “autumn-esque” flavor.
The serendipity of the Fall quickly swooned over my palate as a fantastically tasteful obsessing of sweet aromatic flavor lent the masterful hand. Rather than mortally horrifying, the prime top-coatings of this Sleepy Hollow mystery were quite amiable in their temperament. For the most part, a politely obliging sweet earthy pumpkin registered as the dominant element within the melee of housed spirits.
Still yet further, deliciously additive spicing materialized, obviously a curious result of some secretive black magic played out by the gruesome rider. Namely, the tasteful gamut of culinary seasonings of note were evoked, dancing beautifully with the foremost pumpkin featuring. With this autumn-like affluence, I was genuinely taken aback by the exquisiteness of its inner soul. Truly enamoring was its triumphant effect!
Continuing on with this spritely indulgence, I soon came to bear with a transient remarking from an indistinct goblin that was manifestly reminiscent of soft baked goods. Perhaps a tell-tale sign of Virginian bread within or some hidden sub-phantom lurking in the shadows of the mixture’s recipe. Additionally, more determined notes of dark strapping molasses and toasted sugar came forth with extraordinary fervor. And as I proceeded to relish the discarnate nature of this specter’s registration, I became further perplexed by a wave of mottled and graceful colorization brought on by a strong basting of fructuous honey, mellow vanilla, and a residing souffle of muffled chocolaty swirling. Fullness of consistent flavor in a word can only describe my relieved reaction.
The impact of the spell originating from the native varietal was of minor disturbance. However, as the bowl progressed the invocation of roasting Burley nut joy and the sweet grassy tang dressed in floral tart of the Virginia grew with added merit. Last there was trailing haunted gasp of eroded zest emitting from the collection of Cavendish that this uncanny spook had aptly administered. This embellishment showed its force at the close of each drawl as it curtained the flowing matrix of flavor throughout the endearing experience.
All in all, Sleepy Hollow’s memorable impressions were orchestrated by the accentuation of the melodiousness and grandeur of the additive coatings rather than embolden native varietals contained within. Nothing frightful at the end of this unsuspected course but rather sheer sweet piping contentment is where the mixture soon found me.
As one should imagine the fragrance evoked by the thick spirited clouds of smoke was as enchanting as the blend’s pouched nose and reveling taste. It posed a heavenly aroma not unlike grandma’s kitchen on a day of delightful pumpkin pie baking for that matter. Although I must attest that the horse-riding phantom did in fact assure the dashed infusion of some alluring earthen citrus spice and dauntless wood as a smiling complement to the lavish bouquet. A most pleasant air by most plausible standards.
Much to my overwhelmed relief, the phantom’s concoction showed no inclination for bite. Nor were there any vile signs of tedious roughness in its lovely texture. As one would have it, the delectable weed singed at a most comfortable cool pace despite the select gratuity of tasteful dressings that had been applied. Clearly a most enjoyable piping adventure in retrospect. Figuratively I lost my own head over its aromatic excellence. Do you reward yourself well with a sitting spell of this fiendish ensemble, for the season is ripe for all its pleasantly haunting goodness. 3.5 Pipes
Too much fun for one day. Happy piping!
With a rather pensive and dreadful gaze, I looked upon the advancement of the mild-bodied bogeyman. Coming to quarters with a forceful halt, it now stood over my entirety, solemnly poised upon the insidiously thumping and snorting muscled steed. I found myself dwarfed by the terrifying bigness of its horrid attendance and a genuine fear began to painfully wretch within my internals. However, there was something strangely alluring just at that. Yes, something indeed that compelled me investigate the contents of the ethereal fiend’s purse.
Thrusting its grim member freely, the saddled monster slowly swung the coveted satchel within foreseeable reach, which caught me gawking in bizarre curiosity. Selflessly grasping the weathered sack from the ghoul’s possession, with a degree of unsettling trepidation, I saw that it revealed a vexing figment of variegated tobaccos. By all accounting the substance queerly floated forward shadowing my vision with a lustful ribbon-cut pillage of darker reckoning.
Witnessing the whole of this Sleepy Hollow blending now, I spied a handsome mixture modeling the colors of the season, golden yellow, burnt orange, decedent brown, and a blackness straight as the pitch of the evening’s looming sky. The leaves showed every inch of fine culturing and fermentation. My hopes were that perhaps this was a clear indication that the poltergeist held within came in earnest with a promise of flavorsome bliss.
Regaining my immediate senses, I was alerted by a memorable wafting essence the seemed to sing. A burst of bright pumpkin spice bundled with traces of cinnamon, nutmeg, lively allspice, and healthy ginger refrained in my presence, gayly harmonizing with a chord of tender creamy vanilla.
A further distant hum seemed to be coming forth by way of a remote citrusy tart voice and some warmer nuttiness accompaniment. Just as I registered these notes a spellbinding arpeggio crossing a scaled aberration of brown sugared root beer spice, bittersweet anise, and determined chocolate overtone sounded with a whispering echo. And finally, a bit native zest formed the crest of the mixture’s enchanting song. To all the heavens, what a perfumed tune this banshee sang friends!
Instinctively I set loose my calabash feeling heartedly possessed by this maniacal aromatic-centric and decapitated figure. A disembodied voice resounding pure phantasmagoria came thus forth, calling to me in a tone of unchambered acrimony it bellowed, “you must smoke my elegant offering dear sir, lest befall to the ills of my unforgiving wrath”. What could I do for heaven’s sake, for I am not of imprudent upbringings. With a nod of consent, I quietly acquiesced to the beast’s bulled warning.
Pinching a pillowy wadding of this spectral concoction I stuffed the bowl of my pipe in quick haste. To the touch it felt not of this world, yet I felt a shroud of comfort fall upon me. How odd this seemed to me, easement posed by the injunction of fear. Is there truly such a thing?
My trembling hands struggled to light the pipe for fear of the potentially horrific outcome should I not submit to the horseman’s command. Mustering every ounce of bravery within my being, I managed to collect my wits and overcome this troubling moment of arrestment. Much to my elation, I was instantly hailed with a wonderfully complete celebration of savory “autumn-esque” flavor.
The serendipity of the Fall quickly swooned over my palate as a fantastically tasteful obsessing of sweet aromatic flavor lent the masterful hand. Rather than mortally horrifying, the prime top-coatings of this Sleepy Hollow mystery were quite amiable in their temperament. For the most part, a politely obliging sweet earthy pumpkin registered as the dominant element within the melee of housed spirits.
Still yet further, deliciously additive spicing materialized, obviously a curious result of some secretive black magic played out by the gruesome rider. Namely, the tasteful gamut of culinary seasonings of note were evoked, dancing beautifully with the foremost pumpkin featuring. With this autumn-like affluence, I was genuinely taken aback by the exquisiteness of its inner soul. Truly enamoring was its triumphant effect!
Continuing on with this spritely indulgence, I soon came to bear with a transient remarking from an indistinct goblin that was manifestly reminiscent of soft baked goods. Perhaps a tell-tale sign of Virginian bread within or some hidden sub-phantom lurking in the shadows of the mixture’s recipe. Additionally, more determined notes of dark strapping molasses and toasted sugar came forth with extraordinary fervor. And as I proceeded to relish the discarnate nature of this specter’s registration, I became further perplexed by a wave of mottled and graceful colorization brought on by a strong basting of fructuous honey, mellow vanilla, and a residing souffle of muffled chocolaty swirling. Fullness of consistent flavor in a word can only describe my relieved reaction.
The impact of the spell originating from the native varietal was of minor disturbance. However, as the bowl progressed the invocation of roasting Burley nut joy and the sweet grassy tang dressed in floral tart of the Virginia grew with added merit. Last there was trailing haunted gasp of eroded zest emitting from the collection of Cavendish that this uncanny spook had aptly administered. This embellishment showed its force at the close of each drawl as it curtained the flowing matrix of flavor throughout the endearing experience.
All in all, Sleepy Hollow’s memorable impressions were orchestrated by the accentuation of the melodiousness and grandeur of the additive coatings rather than embolden native varietals contained within. Nothing frightful at the end of this unsuspected course but rather sheer sweet piping contentment is where the mixture soon found me.
As one should imagine the fragrance evoked by the thick spirited clouds of smoke was as enchanting as the blend’s pouched nose and reveling taste. It posed a heavenly aroma not unlike grandma’s kitchen on a day of delightful pumpkin pie baking for that matter. Although I must attest that the horse-riding phantom did in fact assure the dashed infusion of some alluring earthen citrus spice and dauntless wood as a smiling complement to the lavish bouquet. A most pleasant air by most plausible standards.
Much to my overwhelmed relief, the phantom’s concoction showed no inclination for bite. Nor were there any vile signs of tedious roughness in its lovely texture. As one would have it, the delectable weed singed at a most comfortable cool pace despite the select gratuity of tasteful dressings that had been applied. Clearly a most enjoyable piping adventure in retrospect. Figuratively I lost my own head over its aromatic excellence. Do you reward yourself well with a sitting spell of this fiendish ensemble, for the season is ripe for all its pleasantly haunting goodness. 3.5 Pipes
Too much fun for one day. Happy piping!
