Holy, Hell. It’s June.

As of this afternoon, I’ve removed 14 snakes from what will become the master bedroom and study. It was, as I’m quick to point out should anyone ask, the master bedroom in the Before Times as well. This particular sort of snake—a nonvenomous constrictor—is the longest in Europe, averaging well over a meter, and frequently two. It also lives up to a quarter-of-a-century, meaning that this family has been visiting their spring get-a-way for a long, long time. Unseen, if not entirely unheard. The basal reflex still governs my adrenal glands despite the fact that the task of grabbing and bagging is almost rote now.

The Work continues, and with a renewed vigor now that stores have reopened. 80 sheets of plasterboard, and somewhere around 300 meters of metal framing were delivered this week.

Elsewhere, as France enters summer newly released from the plague prisons, its citizens making noises not far removed from those uttered in the aftermath of this week seventy-six years ago, life is starting up again. The cafes are open in most places, so too the terraces of restaurants, enough of the latter that in the towns and cities at least, take away is a new big thing. Aside from a run to a food truck a couple of weeks ago, and a fine meal served in my room at an airport hotel, I’ve not had a meal I’ve not cooked in months. Sometime in the next couple of weeks, I hope to venture out. If only, perhaps, for a lunch.

My year-long writing and illustration project—The Manifest of the Gagarin Dawn—has finally gone to print, and I’m in the midst of a virtual book launch, which is a strange thing. The ebook is available on Amazon, and paper in a few weeks. The new next is underway, although the demands of all of that sheetrock is likely to mean a slow march, rather than something else. Although, how anyone could tell the difference, is a fine question.

And…that’s all for this dispatch. Thanks for reading. Stay healthy.