So there I was, minding my own business, lifting heavy things and putting them back down. I had abandoned the bear cave for an iron temple of my own making. And Brodin had turned his countenance towards this new temple, and he smiled upon it, and he blessed it for the sacred gainz and for the pursuit of the Swole. Wheymen.
I am, as the poet says, the stunned machine of her devotion. A dark pleated skirt, falling just past the knees. Black silk blouse, buttoned all the way. Pearls, of course, crystal earrings James gifted for her birthday, bangles, gold on each wrist. They caught the sunlight flowing in from the window, and I was dazzled.
I was lying peacefully in bed this morning, in love with the world, and this life. A feeling of gentle peace had swept over me, even though I heard the rain beginning to fall outside. More rain? Kate says the climate has changed, we now live in a newly tropical rainfall region, and I should just get used to it.
The real creation was done by our contributors, who wrote and thought and painted and photographed and sculpted and played and composed. There’s so much talent out there, such incredible minds, legions of people doing wonderful things, even if conditions seem sometimes unpropitious.
I’m fond of those Faverolles. They come from a tiny little French town, about 10 miles north of Chartres, and they lay salmon colored eggs. They’re also a little skittish… the rough Rhode Islands and the burly Orpingtons tend to hector them, so they keep to themselves.