Poor Bessie is old and fragile. Shortly after she came to hang out with me a previous mend of one of her arms failed and she had to come down. I told you about my repair-by-braille and after a week the clear Hard as Nails cured around the new metal clamp and, thanks to my former Special Forces Godson-in-law we cobbled a way to hang her in a more sheltered spot that required no damage to the property, and she was hoisted aboard.
Not as gloriously flambuoyant out of full sunshine, but as someone pointed out, a little less dangerous as the crystals might start a fire.
I feel a kinship with Bessie. Both damaged and worn, a bit wonky, dont quite light up the world anymore, but still sparkly and still hanging around making the neighbours smile.
She lifts my soul as I look out on her glistening like diamonds. Welcome nome Bessie!