Moon-spiders in the cosmic web. Last night we watched Three Paths to the Lake, from a story by Ingeborg Bachman. I have a book by her in transit from the library. I just finished In the Rhododendrons, about Virginia Woolf, and the Marginalian has a post on To the River: A Journey Beneath the Surface, about Virginia Woolf and the river Ouse she slipped into forever. I don't know what is synchronicity and what is algorithm, and maybe it don't matter, but maybe it does.

Chiara flopped down on the stone porch, tired from a morning swim, and had to be lured back inside with cheese.