It seems that I spend a good deal of my time, these days, schlepping smaller and larger piles of books from room to room in the house. It's a small-scale version of a long-time symptom: I always know that something or another is coming down the pike, trying to get itself created, when I start moving stacks of books from place to place. This time, I'm not quite sure what it is.
In April, when we climbed a mountain on the Burren, I found these stones and thought, that's odd. Later in the climb, we learned that it's fossilized coral, from when the Burren was the bed of an equatorial sea.