when icicles hang by the wall

Not our own icicles (or wall, for that matter), but hanging outside the vet's.  No true problem, but Moth has been sneezing a lot, and we're always anxious about her since she was sick with kitty flu when we adopted her as a kitten from the shelter, so we thought she deserved a check-over whilst we're still in a place where that's easy (and where our great vet knows her, and us).  She has some anti-inflammatory meds to calm what's probably an allergy: no sign of an infection.  So that's a relief.  The icicles and tangled vines were a bonus.

And - today is the twelfth birthday of Forms Traced By Light!  This is the four thousandth, five hundred and thirty-fifth day running that I've posted an image (or so) and some prose that veers between the chattily factual and - occasionally - the more ambitious.  By now, this amounts to some strange grounding daily compulsion: the more pretentious aspects have mostly fallen off off and away.  What's its optimum length, would you think?  Five thousand days?  Fifteen years?  Do I really want ever to stop?  It's a strange form of record, but by now it is one, and never more so than the last ten months, when the idea of dailyness brings very little by way of visible difference, much of the time.  But I haven't stopped looking for corners of beauty, like these icicles.