"That's the way of all things," said Milton.

{Moving forward in the way of all things, made especially for our part in Playing Field.}

Cilla is in the pocket of the poets. A new home has been found for her finally, and it was worth the wait. The other day, we drove her to her new home where the streets they are named after poets — Tennyson, Shelley, Byron, Coleridge, Cowper, Milton — in a suburb believed to be named after Quaker poet Thomas Elwood, and it felt, it feels, the perfect fit for a chinchilla of senior years. That she now lives in a good home with its good owner, its very good owner, in a good place, in a place that resembles, in part, a tree house (owing to its lofty green tree canopy view) has made it all the easier for me. I miss her, yes, but she has a better home than I could have provided. She is the queen in a one cat home. Moreover, she has poets, a slew of them, on her doorstep.

{Taking the long way.}

+ Playing Field catalogue essay.
+ "Perhaps, like the collaborative duo Gracia Haby and Louise Jennison, you could unbridle your imagination and create endless fantasy worlds in which multi-coloured fish fly." (From the essay This is something that happens by Phip Murray for Playing Field)
+ Plus, in gallery three: I'll Show You My Craft If You Show Me Yours (part I)

+ Thanks, Beck.