The stalk has withered dry, my love, though our hearts shan't decay
I have been challenged by
cucumberseed and
nineweaving to write something about trees, and by
phi and
cucumberseed to write something about the drowning of the Doves. (I said incautiously, "The river got a taste for him.") Just making a note for myself here. Arisia is going astonishingly well, considering I functionally haven't slept since Friday.

no subject
Yay! I hope you were able to sleep last night.
no subject
Yes, actually! I should do more of it!
no subject
no subject
Amen. It doesn't render fiction pointless—that's a horrible reductive take on the interplay of the two—but it does occasionally make you wish fiction would step up its game a little. If reality can get away with this sort of thing . . .
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
I'm going to try. I have a lot of history to live up to! (It struck me, writing now to
no subject
no subject
You're welcome. I recognized the typeface as soon as I saw it, but I'd never heard its name or anything about its creation or its murder (which is what this kind of destruction feels like to me). It's astonishing what people do: both the original disposal, and now the bringing-back.
no subject
no subject
I just hope I can live up to it! I feel reality has set the bar very high with this one.
no subject
no subject
Credit