Midsummer's Harvest

Full moon on a Midsummer Day. Perfect for gathering St. John's Wort, that now wretchedly-overused poster girl of Herbology for relieving depression. No herb, however, can cure what permanently ails me, and a foray into the use and efficacy of St. John's Wort left me with some sort of odd allergic reaction; to be analyzed further. I always did reject attitude adjustments.

Almost a year since my last post. Why, for Merlin's sake? Because I love putting pictures on here, and no longer can — not until I update this creaky old Internet browser! Those Muggle contrivances again!
 Yesterday, my hair (or rather part of it) became something other than black, or dark brown that is nearly black, for the first time in over three years: I took the 40-volume bleach to it, for my upcoming State Gymnastics meet (James Potter let's see YOU do a handspring!), but even more, I did it for my Grandmother. She misses my "honey-blonde" hair, 40-volume child that is was, and old folks can get set in their ways of how they think of and favor you (hmm, sound familiar?). So, not wanting to suffer full 40-volume torture, as my black hair is now almost to my waist and I like it that way, I did the best I could — I met her halfway. Now I've got these trippy golden racing stripes. (What do you get when you cross a skunk with Nastia Liukin . . .? Bodily 'scents'/sense?)

Today I did indeed collect St. John's Wort buds. The finest oil for sore muscles (that darned gymnastics body—!) is made only from unopened buds and is deep red in color. Simply no other variations or recipes compare! Last year as I gathered buds, I saw a bee fall from the flower as I touched it. Behind, a yellow spider, the same yellow as the blooms. Amid a sunny day in full flower, the cycle of life; the presence of camouflage, stealth, and death. I think Snape would be at least somewhat impressed by, or at least in line with, my observations. I cannot, however, assert the same about my new hair!