And again.

Insomnia in pastel. Part 3.

Part 2

Minding my peas and quilts.

I can't get no sleep.

The Firebird.

Not quite ablaze. 

Apt.

The best passage from Andersen also happens to be one of the most wintry.

Racing turtles.

More tortuga for you.

Sakes alive, son.

A Morla morning.

Ivan to know.

Trying to imitate Bilibin, it just ended up looking like a paint by numbers.

Season's eatings.

 

Sugarplum.



 

 

Waiting and watchful.

Little'uns.

 

 

There is no other Troy for you to burn.

A different generation, I grant you.  Medea.

Missing R. Holdstock with a fury right now. 

Ys.

Dreaming lightly.

Feathers into snow.

Old Mother Hulda, cleaning out the lofts. 

Jacked.

This is what wishing out of your bedroom window gets you.  Trouble by the beanful.

Climbing up the walls.

Also.  Let down and hanging around.

Up, up in the air.

Cumulo-nymphus.

Variations on a theme.

Lost Tails.  Giving an oldie some sprucing.

Town mouse and country mouse.

For the record, I like to eat my dinner uninterrupted, too.

Night folk.

When cats run home and light is come,
And dew is cold upon the ground,
And the far-off stream is dumb,
And the whirring sail goes round,
And the whirring sail goes round;
Alone and warming his five wits,
The white owl in the belfry sits.

                                            Tennyson,  The Owl

Been told that this still doesn't count as cute.