My winter chillies are doing good, as they are placed in this elevated space in the stairwell, on a construction created by my crafty wife, where they can look out into the cold bright winter morning, where they would definitely die were they exposed to it, still thinking, by my clever deceit, that they are somewhere in the highlands of Venezuela, and that the sun that nourish them holds the magic of the Southern Cross, and is not just the northern hemisphere's cold eye of burning hydrogen.
