Ready, ready, ready ...
One wonders how frequently we'll experience "the storm of the century," meteorological, political, psychic or otherwise? Either they're more frequent or our centuries are getting shorter. S.
Tis the first full day of autumn! The air is cool and the apples are ripening. Pie is in the air!
Mid-summer doldrums, resolved in the garden, in books (the unauthorized bio of JRR Tolkien, whose last name translates as "foolhardy" and/or "daring") and in notes to friends.
Summer solstice! The joyful slide to The Cool Solstice begins. Thinking of you, sweetie.
You know what I think of submissive citrus fruits? They are sublime.
Happy Mother's Day, non-motherly dear.
Joyeux solstice, happy Christmas and joyful New Year, evanescent dear!
Hello, sweetie. The private message system remains down. How have you done in crazy times, sweet girl? Surely mere masks could not dim your smile, nor viruses your elven glow. We are well. Ish. As I write, my son is recovering from a covid infection. His sense of smell is slowing returning (mint toothpaste? check!) but not yet his sense of taste. The girl's health remains contested ground, but we push forward. And I appear to be now as ever. About as healthy, about as vigorous, about as prone to having old song lyrics spontaneously appear in my brain, as when I first had the pleasure of your company. Share what you can. I'm around.
Goodness, girl, you are amazing. I'm sorry that our paths cross so rarely.
