This is the best place ever ever EVER. Every day is like a spring snowfall and a Provisional Festival and the first ripe persimmon, all at the same time! She jots that down: persimmons. Not the dried ones, those are insipid.

And a boy floating down from the heavens, just there! How unutterably splendid!

She sets aside her brush and throws caution to the wind in her hurry to go make proper obeisance. She scuttles the last few yards on her knees, and touches her forehead reverently to the ground that John may or may not be actually standing on.