Golden beets, when sliced raw, are the color of sunset and ripe nectarines, their interiors mysterious with concentric rings. I have been having too much fun with cold-steeping tea, although I would rather not think too hard about why I've been having to drink so much cold liquid. We dissassembled five chickens today, spatchcock, half-cock, bone-in breasts, wings, and spines. The green ink has arrived; I hope it fits one of my myriad pens. I am grateful for the dropping temperature.