Heyyyyyy......(hey...hey....hey....) ...Agricolus taps on the door of the "thinking" room at the magnificent MWWG headquarters, listening to the faint echoes of his voice. He hears nary a scratch of a pen, nary a pipping of a keyboard key, nay, not even a sigh... "Oh, well", he says to no one but himself and the spider that is busily building his fragile abode on the brass hinge of the 6068 dual paneled double-swung entry way door with brass trim, "...I guess they've gone elsewhere to find inspiration..."
He walks down the corridor to the grassy mall behind the massive stone building, remembering some of his own adventures in the many Junes he's seen, and realizes how precious those fleeting 21 days are between the end of the promise of May and the death-knell that is Summer Solstice, after which the days begin to shorten. He pulls his kilt about him a little tighter, feeling November's wicked frosty breath blowing about his Jockey boxer briefs; he reaches for respite in the folds of his tartan for the flask--respite from what he envisions as a cold day yet to come.