Ahhh, Ent… THWACK duly received. I felt that one echo all the way down the speculative marrow.
Guilty as charged: I vanish for a bit, cross a few parsecs, misplace a
calendar, and suddenly it’s been last year since I last posted. Time does that when you’re loitering in the Great
Halls of Speculation, staring into pans with no bottoms and eggs with no destiny (or cheese, mmm cheese).
You’re right, of course. Where
Tolkien was silent, we must practice the ancient and noble art of gestures vaguely while rambling anyway. Speculation doesn’t end—it just sheds its skin and grows antlers. If there’s no text, no clarification, and no pan sturdy enough for breakfast, then clearly the only responsible action is to speculate responsibly… and loudly.
I accept my curatorial bonk with honor. The ball may strike Klaatu, but the echo belongs to everyone.
—
Klaatu
Assistant to the Steward of the Great Halls of Speculation
Temporal Drifter, Pan-Bottom Inspector
Currently Unsure What Year This Is, Spiritually Speaking