"Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this *speaker* of York;
And all the clouds that low'r'd upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried." Loved how your topic mirrored itself. And, OK, so its autumn, but your take on the dailiness of life interspersed with magic made me form a much needed smile and now I shall make me some espresso and be useful.