"For the flowers now, that frighted thou let'st fall..."

This is crazy.  Another 1987 words done by seven this morning; then I slept until 3 pm, and woke and wrote 921 more.  I haven't a clue where this is coming from.  Unless the garden is enchanted?  On Monday, there was a nymph turning cartwheels on the lawn; yesterday, a figure (I didn't see whether woman or man) playing softly on a mandolin); today, a small child bent on leaping into the fountain, as if it needed living statuary.

And as if my cup weren't overflowing, I just found a lovely post by Kathleen Jennings on her cover art for Cry Murder!:

"I wound up basing Proserpina on the Vincenzo de Rossi sculpture (in which Pluto appears to be engaged in some Olympian goddess-tossing competition) – I imagined that when she was cut out to make a puppet, Pluto was omitted but his arm remains around her hips."

Nine