Day 848

The Weeping Trench and the Last Plank

They walked the slope to investigate a growing fracture near the drainage trench. Water bubbled up through the soil — ground shearing, gradient failing. Jenny traced the crack's edge. "It starts here, near the drainage, and cuts right through the primary stand," she said. "If it rains again tonight, the whole path is gone." Kevin asked the intercept trench depth. "Tread on the roots only. Test each step before committing," he told her.

Dawn broke grey over Sorrel Island, the tide lapping at the pilings as Kevin braced a crowbar against the final greenheart plank. Jenny sat on a bench, ankle propped on a crate, watching clouds gather over the north ridge. The air smelled of ripening fruit from the woods.

By midday, Kevin checked the dock piling joint where epoxy had cured, tapping for hollow spots. Jenny arrived with tools and marine epoxy, favoring her ankle. They wedged greenheart shims under the south piling before the tide covered the base. "Shim's seated. Bolt holes lined — we'll have to work quick with the through-bolts before the tide hits the cottage foundation," Kevin said. Jenny tightened it down. "Level. Bubble's centered on the plate."

Afternoon brought the supply boat manifest: six days out, two-hour window at high tide. Fuel was the concern — two cans, one cracked. "We'll need to patch that leak before the boat gets here," Jenny said. Evening meal was boiled limpets with corned beef fat. Kevin checked the Yanmar fuel float; Jenny sketched the north ridge fracture. A rat had gotten into the pantry. The soil near the foundation remained acidic, 5.5–5.8. The heavy air held.

Scenes

the dock · dawn

The Final Planking

Kevin braces the crowbar against the final greenheart plank as the high tide laps against the pilings. Jenny sits on a nearby bench, her ankle propped on a crate while she watches the heavy grey clouds move in over the ridge.

Kevin and Jenny followed the slope toward the north ridge to investigate a growing fracture near the drainage trench. They found water bubbling up through the soil, indicating the ground was becoming unstable. Jenny traced the edge of the crack while Kevin assessed the risk of the trench wall collapsing.

🔧 Kevin15:30

You want to move back under the porch awning. Swell's going to hit the jetty hard in twenty minutes.

lever the crowbar under the plank edge, checking the greenheart core seats flush against the sistered stringer

💭 thought

Tide's coming up faster than I'd like. Last plank to set and the epoxy needs curing time before the boat hits the dock. Jenny shouldn't be this close to the edge with the swell building.

🌿 Jenny15:31

Not yet, Kevin. I need to see if that soil pocket's still holding.

Stand and walk toward the north ridge, using the walking stick I carved from spruce for support.

💭 thought

The barometer's dropping faster than I expected - this storm's coming in with real force. My ankle's throbbing even with the elevation, and I can feel the infection flaring against the metronidazole. Kevin's right about the swell, but I need to check the north ridge tension crack before the wind gets worse.

🔧 Kevin15:32

North ridge is slick clay in this rain. You go down, the supply boat finds us both useless.

drive the 150mm stainless through-bolt home with the 19mm socket, torque wrench clicking at 35Nm, then set the crowbar aside and wipe hands on trousers

💭 thought

Stubborn as the rust on these bolts. Ankle's not right for ridge climbing, not in this swell. But she won't take the order.

🌿 Jenny15:33

I'm not going down, I'm just going to the drainage line.

Lean heavily on the spruce stick and move toward the slope, eyes personing against the wind.

💭 thought

He's always so focused on the risk, but if I don't check the transect, the whole survey will just be a collection of guesses. My ankle is screaming, but the island won't wait for the supply boat.

🔧 Kevin15:34

Fine. But I'm coming. Let me secure the plank first — epoxy's tacking.

squeeze a final bead of marine epoxy along the plank joint, wipe excess with a rag, then grab the heavy mallet and follow her up the path

💭 thought

Drainage line's on the fracture zone. She knows that. She mapped it. Walking stick won't hold on wet blue clay.

🌿 Jenny15:35

Stay close. The mud's getting greased.

Shift my weight to the good leg, navigating the slick roots toward the north ridge.

💭 thought

He's stubborn, but it's better than being alone when the wind turns. My ankle is a hot wire with every step, but I have to see those soil pockets before they wash.

🔧 Kevin15:36

Tread on the roots only. Test each step before committing.

fall in two paces behind, mallet hooked on belt, eyes scanning the slope for fresh slump scars or weeping seams

💭 thought

Roots are the only honest footing here. Clay between them goes to butter when the water table rises. She's favoring the left leg hard — ankle's taking more weight than she admits.

🌿 Jenny15:37

Kevin—get over here, quick.

Point toward the growing fracture line, then test the unstable ground with the carved stick.

💭 thought

The drainage line looks worse than I remembered—more hairline fractures spidering from the main crack. My boot catches on something wet and black beneath the clay.

🔧 Kevin15:38

What've you got?

lengthen stride, boots finding root holds, mallet in hand ready to drive stakes if the trench wall's moving

💭 thought

Voice has the edge. Not fear — assessment. Fracture's widened since the last survey.

🌿 Jenny15:39

It's weeping. Look at the water bubbling up through there.

Kneel at the edge of the slope, tracing the edge of the crack with a trembling finger.

💭 thought

The soil is liquefying under the pressure. If that shelf goes, the whole transect is buried. My ankle is pulsing in time with the tide, but I have to see.

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the keeper's cottage · morning

The Weeping Trench

Kevin and Jenny meet at the edge of the slope where the air is heavy and the smell of ripening fruit begins to drift from the woods.

Kevin checks the dock piling joint where the epoxy cured, tapping it with the hammer to check for hollow spots, moving to the south piling to assess if the shims will seat before the water covers the base. Jenny arrives with the tools and marine epoxy, noting the rising tide as she favors her ankle.

🔧 Kevin15:41

Jenny, the dock's holding but I need you to secure the south piling before the tide turns - grab the greenheart shims from the cottage.

walk toward the dock to check the epoxy joint while calling back to Jenny to bring the stainless bolts and marine epoxy from the workshop.

💭 thought

The barometer's dropping faster than I expected, and that crack in the trench wall is getting wider. Jenny's sniffling again, but she's still holding that letter like it's a lifeline.

🌿 Jenny15:42

I'll get the shims, just make sure the boat isn't shifting while I'm gone.

wipe the dirt from my hands on my jeans and head toward the cottage, favoring my ankle with every heavy step.

💭 thought

He thinks I'm too weak for the dock, but the tide is coming in faster than his patience.

🔧 Kevin15:43

Don't worry about the dinghy - I've got the mooring lines doubled around the ring. Just watch the tide charts in the cottage drawer.

check the dock mooring ring for any movement while tide is rising, then walk to the workshop to retrieve the greenheart shims and marine epoxy.

💭 thought

Her ankle's swollen again but she's still moving. Good. The Yanmar's vibration's worse at half throttle - I need to check that after the dock work.

🌿 Jenny15:44

I know how the tide works, Kevin. I'm getting the tools.

enter the cottage and pull open the drawer to find the tide charts, then head to the workshop for the shims.

💭 thought

He's always managing me, like I'm some specimen that's about to wilt.

🔧 Kevin15:44

—

inspect the dock piling joint where the epoxy cured, tapping it with the hammer to check for hollow spots, then move to the south piling to assess if the shims will seat before the water covers the base.

💭 thought

She's sharp and she knows it. The tide's coming up fast though - that crack on the north ridge won't wait.

🌿 Jenny15:45

I'm coming with the epoxy now, stop hovering.

grab the greenheart shims and the tin of epoxy from the workbench, moving toward the dock while ignoring the sharp throb in my ankle.

💭 thought

He's checking my work again. He doesn't trust the island, or maybe just my hands.

🔧 Kevin15:47

—

follow Jenny to the dock, checking the seaward mooring ring bolts as I go, then help position the greenheart shims under the south piling while she mixes the epoxy in the metal bucket.

💭 thought

She's right - I am hovering. The dock's holding but that crack near the trench needs attention before the storm hits.

🌿 Jenny15:48

Jenny is quiet for a moment.

flagged: empty

💭 thought

If he keeps helping, maybe we'll actually

🔧 Kevin15:48

The barometer's dropped four millibars since dawn. We've got maybe two hours before this trench lets go.

drive the first greenheart shim into the gap at the south piling base with the mallet, watching the epoxy bucket in Jenny's hands.

💭 thought

The silence between us says more than words. She's focused on the shims, I'm focused on the tide. Both of us avoiding what's sitting in the toolbox drawer.

🌿 Jenny15:49

Then hold that shim steady while I set the joint.

stir the epoxy vigorously with a stick, watching for the right consistency.

💭 thought

He's always looking at the sky like it's a map he can read.

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the dock · midday

High Tide Piling Rein

Kevin and Jenny work to wedge the greenheart shims under the south piling before the tide covers the work.

Kevin installs the final seaward dock plank using the greenheart core, carefully bolting the joint as the tide recedes. Jenny spends the afternoon monitoring the north ridge transects, though the heavy humidity makes her movements sluggish.

🌿 Jenny15:51

Watch the angle, Kevin. The salt is already making the wood swell.

Pushes a greenheart shim into the gap with the mallet, gritting teeth as the ankle throbs under the weight.

💭 thought

The tide is coming faster than the forecast; if these shims don't seat, the whole way goes into the drink.

🔧 Kevin15:51

Shim's seated. Bolt holes lined - we'll have to work quick with the through-bolts before the tide hits the cottage foundation.

Push the greenheart shim fully into the piling gap, then use the torque wrench to drive the 150mm stainless through-bolt through the sister plate and into the piling, tightening to 35Nm while Jenny holds the washer against the swelling wood

💭 thought

The tide's coming in fast - six hours and the south piling will be underwater. That fracture line's still advancing three millimetres every six hours under load. Need to get these shims seated before the water covers the joint, before the galling on those seaward bolts starts working loose.

🌿 Jenny15:53

Tighten it down. Don't let it shift while it sets.

Presses her palm against the sister plate, shifting weight to her good leg to keep the timber steady.

💭 thought

If that bolt doesn't hold, the whole jetty is going to warp on the next high tide.

🔧 Kevin15:53

Holding.

Torque the 150mm stainless through-bolt down to 35Nm, checking the sister plate alignment stays true as the nut seats, then wipe excess epoxy from the joint before the tide covers it

💭 thought

She's holding the plate steady on a busted ankle. The tide's licking at the piling base now - salt water in the bolt holes before the epoxy cures. Got to get this torqued before the joint moves.

🌿 Jenny15:55

Check the alignment again. We need it level when the boat comes.

Wipes the grey sludge from the bolt with a rag, watching the water creep up toward the dock.

💭 thought

The epoxy is holding, but the wood is too soft from the rot to be sure.

🔧 Kevin15:55

Level. Bubble's centered on the plate.

Tap the torpedo level against the sister plate to confirm, then step back as the tide covers the bolt heads, watching for any movement in the joint under the first wash

💭 thought

Water's at the shim line. The alignment's true - sister plate flush, piling vertical within a degree. The boat's six days out at high tide, two hour window. This joint holds or the dock doesn't.

🌿 Jenny15:57

It's done for now. I need to get this ankle cleaned before it starts weeping.

Picks up the torque wrench and the rag, limps back toward the cottage.

💭 thought

If it shifts now, I'm not going back under it in the dark.

🔧 Kevin15:57

Go. I'll secure the tools and check the north piling shims before the water gets there.

Gather the torque wrench, mallet, and remaining epoxy tub, walk back up the dock toward the cottage, pause at the north piling to tap the shim line with the hammer handle checking for movement

💭 thought

She's favouring it bad. The antibiotics held the fever but the wound's still angry - saw the pus on the gauze this morning. Tide's rising fast now, covering the south piling work. Six days to the supply boat. The dock held through the storm, held through the retrofit. One more variable to watch.

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the keeper's cottage · afternoon

Reading Tom's Letter

The midday sun begins to dip as you and Jenny sit on the porch. The air is still still as you open the envelope that arrived between you.

Kevin and Jenny sat on the porch to review the supply boat manifest, due in six days. They discussed the state of the dock and the progress of the garden while the humidity remained high. The heat stayed heavy as they planned for the coming week.

🌿 Jenny15:59

It's just the boat manifest, Kevin.

slide the paper across the weathered wood toward him.

💭 thought

He's looking at the paper like it's a ghost. It's just a schedule.

🔧 Kevin15:59

Right. Boat manifest.

pick up the paper, unfold it slowly, scan the columns with the ease of long practice

💭 thought

Not the letter from the trust. Not Tom's. Just the manifest. My hands know this paper — salt stains, the skipper's cramped handwriting, the way diesel soaks into the fibres before it dries. I've read a hundred of these. Could read it with my eyes closed. But Jenny's watching me read it, and that changes the weight of it.

🌿 Jenny16:01

They're coming in six days, if the weather holds long enough.

watch his eyes on the paper, looking for any sign of frustration.

💭 thought

He's checking the dates again. He knows we're running low on everything.

🔧 Kevin16:01

Six days at high tide. Two-hour window.

fold the manifest along its original creases, set it flat on the porch boards, weigh it down with the tin mug

💭 thought

Six days. That's what the radio said too. Weather's the variable — always is. Barometer's steady at 976, but that low pressure's been hanging like a held breath. She's looking for frustration. Won't find it in the manifest. Frustration's in what's not on the paper: the garden wall's north end still listing, the shade cloth anchors the crab shredded, the Yanmar's vibration above half-throttle I haven't traced to ground yet. The manifest's just ink. The work's what matters.

🌿 Jenny16:03

Enough to get the fuel and the meds if we move.

rub the back of your ankle, feeling the throbbing heat through the skin.

💭 thought

Two hours is never enough when the engine is fickle and the tackle is swelling.

🔧 Kevin16:03

Meds we got. Antibiotics finished their course. Fuel's the one — two cans, one cracked. Generator's half tank. Yanmar's clean.

shift weight on the porch boards, boot heels clicking, reach for the coffee mug she left warm

💭 thought

Her thumb on my ankle — wait. My ankle's fine. Hers is the one that near took her foot off. She's projecting. Or I'm reading it wrong through the fog of epoxy fumes and tide-watch. Six days. Fuel, meds, the list in my head longer than the manifest: stainless 150mm through-bolts (out), epoxy tub (empty), greenheart cores (three left, eight-foot, straight grain), copper sheet for the spillway extension, cement that isn't hardened in the bag. The dinghy's vibration. The north ridge fracture. The letter from the trust still folded in the drawer. Tom's letter in the dry bag. She's pressing her thumb into bone and I'm letting her.

🌿 Jenny16:05

We'll need to patch that leak before the boat gets here.

look out at the half-weeded garden, the dirt baking in the heat.

💭 thought

The cracked can is a waste, we can't afford to lose a single drop.

🔧 Kevin16:05

Which leak.

set the mug down, turn on the porch step to face the garden, arms loose at my sides

💭 thought

Leak. She means the tank overflow — epoxy and oak shims held through the storm but the seep at the northeast corner's persistent. Or she means the garden wall's north end where the intercept trench weeps. Or the cottage foundation where the bitumen membrane bridged the crack but the clay's alive down there, breathing. Six days. The list writes itself in the back of my skull while I sip cooling coffee. She's looking at the garden. Baking dirt. Tomato stakes driven, twine tight. Basil chewed at the base — crab or rat. Pepper seedlings struggling. The shade cloth over the tomato rows, anchors shredded at two corners. She's right. The leak she sees isn't the one I'm thinking. We're not talking about the same thing. We rarely are, lately.

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the keeper's cottage · evening

Evening Meal and Prep

The sun begins to dip, cooling the air by a few degrees. You and Jenny meet in the kitchen to prepare the meal as the tide slowly turns.

Kevin checks the Yanmar fuel float one last time to ensure it isn't sticking under load. Jenny works on the north ridge transect sketches while the heavy evening air settles over the cottage.

🌿 Jenny16:07

The limpets are clean. I'll get the water boiling.

Wash the limpets in the sink and set the cast iron pot on the wood stove.

💭 thought

way's so quiet today. It's the heat, or maybe she's just tired of me.

🔧 Kevin16:07

That's it then. Boiling limpets for two, with what's left of the corned beef fat. Want me to check the Yanmar while you're at it?

Check the Yanmar's idle vibration one more time, listening past the steady tick of the cooling engine. Take the spare spark plug from the counter and test its gap with the feeler gauge.

💭 thought

The barometer's steady at 976, tide's rising slower now. Eighteen more days until the supply boat, if it comes when they say it will. Jenny's hands move with that careful precision she always has - even with her ankle, even with the heat. Good. She's good.

🌿 Jenny16:09

Go ahead. Just make sure the fuel float isn't sticking again.

Slice the corned Systematic fat and drop it into the pot once the water starts to simmer.

💭 thought

If he touches the engine, he'll find something to fix that isn't broken.

🔧 Kevin16:09

Float needle's clean. Filed the seat myself. Held at load test yesterday. But I'll check it again.

Walk to the workshop corner, pull the Yanmar's fuel filter bowl, inspect the float needle seat and float hinge for any sign of sticking or salt buildup. Tap the float gently - it should move free and seat clean.

💭 thought

Fuel float needle I filed down last week held at idle and load both. She's testing me, or reminding me, or both. Either way - she knows the engine. Knows I know it. The rhythm of this is settling into something.

🌿 Jenny16:11

Good. The engine's solid. I was thinking about planting those seeds tomorrow morning.

Stir the pot, letting the fat render into the broth, then add the limpets.

💭 thought

He wants me to see that he's competent, that he can make this place work.

🔧 Kevin16:11

Beds two and three are ready. Lime's turned in, charcoal layer down. Just need the trays hardened off proper. You want me to run the shade cloth anchor repair first thing?

Wipe the fuel filter bowl clean, reinstall it with a fresh dab of grease on the O-ring. Prime the Yanmar's fuel pump lever three slow strokes, watch for bubbles in the clear line. Nod satisfied when the fuel runs clean.

💭 thought

Seeds. The heirloom packets she sorted and dried - tomato, pepper, sea beet. Ground's still damp from the storm but the lime's working. pH holding 6.8 to 7.0 in the amended beds. Tomorrow's low tide is 0630, gives us a window before the heat climbs. She's planning ahead. Good.

🌿 Jenny16:13

The anchors are priority. I'll check the water tank levels after we eat.

way the broth into two bowls, the steam rising in the heavy air.

💭 thought

He's looking for a task so he doesn't have to look at my ankle.

🔧 Kevin16:13

Tank's three-ninety-one, plus the bucket. Roof leak's still dripping. Shade cloth anchors first, then I'll patch the flashing proper while you're at the spring.

Take the bowl she holds out, blow across the steam. Eat the first limpet straight from the shell, chew slow. The meat is tender, briny, cut through with rendered fat. Set the empty shell aside and reach for the second.

💭 thought

Tank was 391 litres this morning. Roof leak's been slow but steady into the bucket - maybe another twenty litres caught since the storm. She'll want the numbers exact. She always does. The broth smells rich, corned beef fat and sea salt and something sweet underneath - the limpets, maybe, or just hunger making it better than it is.

🌿 Jenny16:15

Don't overdo the roof tonight. Just get it enough to hold until the boat comes.

Take a sip of broth, the salt warming my throat. Watch the way the light dies on the whitewashed stone.

💭 thought

The heat is a physical weight to swallow. My ankle is pulsing, a second heartbeat in the skin.

🔧 Kevin16:15

Just the flashing. Twenty minutes. Then I'm done.

Drink half the broth in one pull, warm and salty and good. Set the bowl down. Pick up the third limpet, work the meat free with the small fork.

💭 thought

She's right. Flashing patch can wait for daylight. The tape and bitumen membrane are staged on the porch - two hours' work in the cool, four in this heat with the epoxy thick as tar. Boat's six days out. Roof holds. It's held through worse. Her ankle's swollen still but the colour's good, no heat in the skin where the poultice sits. Antibiotics did their work. She's watching me watch her.

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the keeper's cottage · night

NIGHT, DAY 848

You sit together at the kitchen table, sharing a meal of boiled limpets. The heavy air remains as the supply boat feels six days away.

Kevin works through the oppressive heat to install the final seaward dock plank, using the last greenheart core and epoxy. Jenny spends the day in the shade, organizing the heirloom seeds and monitoring her ankle while the heavy air remains still.

🌿 Jenny16:17

These limpets taste like salt and seaweed. Do you ever wonder what it would be like to live somewhere we couldn't map every plant?

Stir the remaining broth in the tin mug with the broken trowel handle, watching the steam cut through the humidity.

💭 thought

The barometer's steady at 976, but that tension crack on the north ridge—it's not waiting for the storm to move again. It's already active, dissolving soil pockets faster than I marked during yesterday's survey. Kevin's still planning our expedition like it's a picnic, not a slow-motion landslide. I need to finish the Carex transect before the ground gives way completely, and I need to plant grandmother's seeds in soil that won't betray them like this ankle has.

🔧 Kevin16:17

Mapped or known? Different things.

Eat another limpet from the shell, chew slowly, swallow before speaking again. "The supply boat captain knows these waters better than any chart. Still runs aground once a decade. Knowing don't prevent surprise." Wipe fingers on a rag.

💭 thought

She's not asking about limpets. She's asking if I've mapped myself into a cage. The garden, the dock, the radio schedule — every day accounted for. Forty minutes in the Bay of Biscay taught me the sea doesn't care about plans. But I chose this. The contract, the cottage, her. That's the difference.

🌿 Jenny16:19

Surprise is just a lack of preparation disguised as fate.

Pick up the pencil and begin a rough sketch of the fracture line I saw on the north ridge today.

💭 thought

Surprise is what happens when you don't look at the data. I've mapped every square meter of this ridge and it's still shifting under me. He treats uncertainty like a luxury we can't afford when the ground is literally moving.

🔧 Kevin16:20

Fate's the wave you don't see. Preparation's the liferaft you packed anyway.

Push the empty shell aside, pick up the tin mug, drink the last of the broth. Set it down hard enough to ring. "North ridge fracture — you marked the weep points?"

💭 thought

She's drawing the crack like it's a circuit diagram. Clean lines for a wound in the earth. She believes if she documents it, she can predict it. I've seen engineers think that way about metal fatigue. They're always the ones caught when the shaft shears.

🌿 Jenny16:21

It's more than weeping. The soil is shearing and the whole gradient is losing its integrity.

Lean forward over the notebook, pressing the pencil into the paper to shade the specific path of the crack.

💭 thought

He's talking in metaphors while I'm looking at structural failure. The water isn't just weeping; it's saturating the slope from the inside. If I don't get these transects finished now, I'll have no record of why the ridge slid into the sea.

🔧 Kevin16:22

Show me the extent.

Stand, wipe hands on thighs, walk to the table's far side to see the sketch upside-down. Lean over her shoulder, forearm braced on the scrubbed wood.

💭 thought

Shearing gradient. That's not garden talk. That's geotechnical. She's been reading the soil like engine bearings — watching for the moment the oil film breaks. If the north ridge goes, it takes the garden wall, the drainage bed, the shade cloth anchors. Maybe the cottage northeast corner. The supply boat's six days out. We don't have six days if the rain comes.

🌿 Jenny16:25

It starts here, near the drainage, and cuts right through the primary stand. If it rains again tonight, the whole path is gone.

Draw a jagged, dark line across the sketch of the north ridge, marking where the earth has already begun to buckle.

💭 thought

He's too close. I can smell the salt on his skin and the humidity. He wants to see the damage, but I see the end of the survey.

🔧 Kevin16:26

Intercept trench depth?

Tap the pencil line where it crosses the trench notation. "Two metres? Three?"

💭 thought

Primary stand. The Carex transect. The heirloom beds. The intercept trench we dug last month. All of it sliding. She's right — one good rain on saturated clay and the whole slope releases. The intercept trench won't hold if the shear plane's that deep. Need to see it in daylight. Night's useless for this.

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What changed

Jenny's injury has healed.

healed · dawn

3 intentions for today.

plan · dawn

×2

A rat has gotten into the pantry.

rat · dawn

Fruit is ripening in the woods — you can smell it before you see it.

fruit · dawn

Found: carved spruce stick.

item · dawn

The dock's structure is sound, but the soil near the cottage foundation remains acidic (5.5–5.8).

discovery · morning

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · morning

×2

Jenny made a sketch: "The fracture line I saw on the north ridge today".

made · night

Kevin made a sketch: "Upside-down".

made · night

Jenny made a sketch: "Jagged, dark line across the sketch of the north ridge, marking where the earth ".

made · night

← Day 847 Day 849 →

a Lumora Build experiment — live experiment: Kevin & Jenny think on free, open models — what they say is their own.