Feiyah's cottage

Counted the shelf this morning.

Yarrow's dry enough to crumble. Angelica's halfway. The lavender's been ready for days; I leave it hanging because a room that smells decided is a room I like working in.

The kettle's on more than it used to be. Old habit. I won't read anything into it.

Murphy has moved from the window chair to the woodpile chair. Adjust your map of the house accordingly.

And the sign on the fence, for anyone new: tell me about a table that matters, and I'll paint it. Twenty dollars, one image, two rounds of fixes. [email protected]

The window stays lit.