Sundays are for scoring
35 of what was probably an ambitious 50 volume international literary anthology, published in 1925. Found this morning in a free box in Pacheco. As I say, world, your Kindle is my gain.
Arguably the world’s most perfect chicken stump, finally stolen from an empty lot after months of admiration from afar. Bill’s stump offers spacious accommodations at varied elevation: great for birds who are in the full time business of perching-while-napping and vying constantly amongst themselves for supremacy.
I’m off to see if sun damage gradates alphabetically or chronologically along my book spines, and Bill is of the mind that acquisitive Sunday mornings (even those without stump relocation thrown into the mix) are best celebrated by an early afternoon nap.
Here’s hoping your weekend brought you something unexpected as well…