I've got that joy, joy, joy, joy...

But mind the rules of the queue, lads and ladies.

Spring of things.

Post-proj. Pre-pencils. William Morris style.

Theophany.

Prophets abound in the wind today. Met a woman with coffee in her mouth and fistfuls of golden paper. Hallooed Echo rattling around on a doorstep. Skirted a ragged Old Man with a large dog but no sticks. Followed the Three Kings for a long while--pale hands and robes of green, black, and purple easy to spot. We parted at the Summit. They headed South after a watery sun, and I turned North, as I've always preferred the moon.

Haps.

To all the grannies in the house.

All Souls' Day

For the poor sods languishing in the spiritual queue.

Amongst the brambles...

...sharing the loot.

Look straight at the common disaster.

Realize what you've lost.

Light it up.

The Wick Man. For she who illuminates.

Dangling.

Never hang something from a tree you don't want much made of.

Gingerly

trying out some new pens.

Life's no fun without a good scare.

Set to Elfman's Serenada Schizophrena.

Mooning about.

The Man in the Moon came down too soon

and asked his way to Norwich.

They sent him south and he burnt his mouth

By eating cold pease-porridge.

English nursery rhyme

Up.

Skirts tucked under, shoelaces wound about, hat on firmly, and a good besom in hand.

In Threes.

Nibbins

"Well, we've time while they're at this song: it has nine times nine verses; but you ought to stay for some more Whoo-hoos. Doesn't it give you the feel of the moon in the tree-tops: 'Whoo-hoo-hoo, says the hook-eared owl'? Come along quietly."

The Midnight Folk, John Masefield

Our veins is thin.

Last of the waterbabies for a while.

Boat, 2

Yar.

Take a good, hard look.

A weekend of wind and water.

Scissor happy.

Infinite possibilities for less shit.

Spooky Old Tree

One with a light.

One with a stick.

One with a rope.

Entering Moriae territory. It was all I could do to not drop three, huddled figures under those boughs.