My utterly unofficial title: “Evening Whispers by the Chapel Stream”
Awarded the Golden Teapot of Tranquil Treachery, for making me suspect there’s a secret society of squirrels running the church choir from the attic. Look at that glow in the tower—they’re up to something, I tell you. Probably practicing Gregorian chants in acorn dialect.
Misty hugs and riverbank winks,
—Lady Doris, Curator of Churchy Conspiracies