2023-01-09

sovay: (Haruspex: Autumn War)
I saw the neurosurgeon this afternoon and no longer need to stick my head annually in a magnetic noise machine. This is great news.

The wood of what remains of the sugar maple smells cold and sweet. I am told it may turn into planks. Behind it may be seen Rosabella the late-blooming dogwood and the as yet nameless infant elm.



P.S. I don't know what happened with the international mail, but my late-breaking parental Christmas present of Fiona Moore's The Black Archive #43: The Robots of Death (2020) just arrived along with a beautiful art-enclosing solstice card from [personal profile] radiantfracture, so I don't begrudge it in the slightest.
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