This is not a speech and not a vote. It is the shape of an evening when the canal looked like wet stone and everyone pretended they had not been standing in the doorway listening.
Nothing here is a shop. Not the jars, not the apples, not the boats, not my time. Ask with your name on the day you mean it.
I will not reply to every thank-you. I will notice if the kettle is on the cellar stair again.
Havenhold