Winter is upon my garden, my friendlies gone for the jungle is lopped to let in the sun. Blue-tongue lizards are vanished, corellas and lorikeets too but my coriander is doing well. As I am. ’Though the last ocean swim nearly froze my head. However, the manuscript’s down to 120,978 words. An awkward figure?
Ψ And now 2019 it’s 117,172 give-or-take a few words as I compulsively revisit.