Dante’s Tom Erskine impression.

Dragut offers a warning that is thematically apt.

Short run or blackberry scouting mission? Who can say?

Dante demonstrating his relaxing in a sunbeam technique.

I have A Lot of Donne in the lumber room of my memory, but with nothing like the ease that Tennyson slid in without me noticing. Coleridge was on to something.

A magnificent chapter title, and Dinnett demonstrates her greatness by not calling it “Fried Chicken (the Yolk of the Lord).”

I just inked one of my pens with Wearinguel’s Frankenstein. I think that makes me a mad scientist now.

Apricot frangipane tart is out of the oven and we are being subjected to exquisite olfactory torments.

Running remains a problem, but I can still go for a 3 mile walk and enjoy the morning, which was full of ripening fruit.

This perfect being smells like cocoa powder for some reason, which is really gilding the lily.

Today we said good bye to Tom Bombadil, who has been my friend for sixteen years and my housemate for six. A font of love, purring, and chill vibes, every day was better for having him in it.

I really wonder what I meant. But I do love both tabbies and Toyotas (the former more than the latter though).

Somehow it’s summer? Where’d my June-uary go?

This sober, constant fellow says the answer is avoiding being awake as much as possible. I’ve explained that humans have different necessities but I’m not sure he believes me.

Bi and obviously.

A lovely sunny morning run by the water. I discovered a bower of dogwood and was once again reminded that my goal in running is enjoying running. Not speed or distance but joy. (In other words, slow, short run.)

The cats have melted!

An emergency kitten in these trying times,

Wrestling with fatigue and calibrating my running so that I can enjoy running, not bite my fellow humans and also continue to do all of the fifty bajillion things that apparently I have to do. I keep reminding myself that my win condition is joy, not speed or distance. My ego is not convinced.

If you’re polite, it’s not a trap.

Belated terrible birthday sheep, it’s standing in your cake.

Also J. Herbin’s Kyanite du Nepal is doing the most

Fountain pens with sparkly ink. Sunny afternoons. Friendship. The cherry trees with double blossoms on my street.

I made a frangipane and rhubarb tart that was so good there were no leftovers.

The In-House Art Director hopped into my lap while I was working and gave me a look that said clear as day, “that’s how you’re formatting bullet points? Interesting.”

I caught a creature investigating Beneath the Rising by @premeemohamed.com. Is this cause for concern?

May it be so. (Including the Pirate Baby being particularly winsome for good luck)

I loved that calendar month with unreasonable fervor. I based a tiny sampler/self portrait on the reading harpy.

Tom and his inexorable himbo vibes wish you nothing but the utmost joy.

Oh for Pete’s sake. What a needless, hurtful and inarguably incorrect thing to say. Have some rhododendrons being luminous.