You'll be long gone, dead and away, but that'll be a diamond someday
Despite the necessary excess of mask-wearing involved in retrieving a prescription from the pharmacy in Davis Square, my afternoon was actually going all right until a dude on Highland speedwalked into me. Obviously it would have taken too much of his valuable time and resources to widen the distance between us in any appreciable fashion, so he tried to speed up and walk past me. He sped up and walked into me. So I came home and basically lit myself on fire. "I don't want to die because some dude refused to understand personal space," I fumed to ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
spatch as I piled clothes into the hamper. "Is that the motto of the age or what?" Have some links.
1. Courtesy ofsholio, a tale of amorous snails: "Pictured: the lesser bastard."
2. I got name-checked in this review of Brian McNaughton's Tide of Desire (1983), an erotic Innsmouth novel I had in fact not known existed. Shame about the ending.
3. I love this T-shirt design. It would be relevant after a pandemic, too.
I know this tree on an adjacent street is not a hawthorn, but something about the skeletal tangle of branches combined with the white blossom made me think of Susan Cooper's Silver on the Tree (1977) the first time we passed it a few nights ago in the rain: "And a white bone will prevent them, and a flying may-tree will save them, and only the horn can stop the wheel."
spatch as I piled clothes into the hamper. "Is that the motto of the age or what?" Have some links.1. Courtesy of
sholio, a tale of amorous snails: "Pictured: the lesser bastard."2. I got name-checked in this review of Brian McNaughton's Tide of Desire (1983), an erotic Innsmouth novel I had in fact not known existed. Shame about the ending.
3. I love this T-shirt design. It would be relevant after a pandemic, too.
I know this tree on an adjacent street is not a hawthorn, but something about the skeletal tangle of branches combined with the white blossom made me think of Susan Cooper's Silver on the Tree (1977) the first time we passed it a few nights ago in the rain: "And a white bone will prevent them, and a flying may-tree will save them, and only the horn can stop the wheel."
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I haven't read them all in years, but perhaps I should. I remember them patterning beautifully, even if I have never liked the memory element of the ending. They are among the books not in storage right now.
May-flower is a great restorer of the soul.
I shall hope it works as the folklore says.