{"id":97,"date":"2026-02-04T00:52:14","date_gmt":"2026-02-04T00:52:14","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/tnf.ola.mybluehost.me\/rw\/2025-autumn\/?page_id=97"},"modified":"2026-02-04T23:00:50","modified_gmt":"2026-02-04T23:00:50","slug":"rainy-days-and-sun-rays","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/societyforritualarts.com\/rw\/2025-autumn\/rainy-days-and-sun-rays\/","title":{"rendered":"Rainy Days and Sun Rays"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<style>\n.container {\n  background-image: url('\/rw\/2025-autumn\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/02\/BgParchment.webp'), url('\/rw\/2025-autumn\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/02\/Rainy-Day-and-Sun-Days-scaled.webp');\n  background-repeat: repeat, no-repeat;\n  background-position: left top;\n}\n.marginBottom {\n  margin-bottom: 96px;\n}\nh1, h2, h3 {\n  margin-block-end: .5em;\n  margin-block-start: .5em;\n  text-align: center;\n}\np {\n  text-indent: 32px;\n<\/style>\n<div class=\"container\">\n\t<div class=\"content\">\n\t        <section class=\"backNext\">\n\t          <h4><a href=\"https:\/\/societyforritualarts.com\/coreopsis\/\">Back to Journals<br> Home<\/a><\/h4>\n\t          <h4><a href=\"\/rw\/2025-autumn\/how-a-phoenix-comes-back\/\">Next Wonderous<br> Story<\/a><\/h4>\n\t        <\/section>\n\t\t<main>\n\t\t\t<h1>Rainy Days and Sun Rays<\/h1>\n\t\t\t<h2>Richard M. Ankers<\/h2>\n\t\t\t<h3 class=\"marginBottom\">Illustrated by Warren Musak<\/h3>\n\t\t\t<p>They resembled upturned umbrellas. It was as though a tempest had whipped a forest of the things inside out, and then blown their owners away, only to abate just as quickly and the giant umbrellas float back down from the sky and implant themselves deep in the earth. I say giant because the trees were just this. About twice the size of ancient redwoods and broader than a bus, they towered over the otherwise barren landscape like gods of the tundra. \u201cThey\u2019re an incredible achievement,\u201d I said, because some things just are.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cThey are the culmination of this world&#8217;s mightiest minds.\u201d She sighed as though having just run a marathon.<\/p> \n\t\t\t<p>\u201cTruly incredible,\u201d I repeated, though more to myself. \u201cThe ministry has done us proud.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>The scientist smiled a sweet smile, but the strain of her work, their work, had taken its toll. Once lush emerald eyes, green as the grass that once covered the landscape, if I remembered correctly from our school days, looked closer to grey. There were even a few streaks of the stuff running through her pinned auburn locks. We\u2019d never been friends, just faces across an overheated classroom, but it still shocked.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cTwo hundred years in the making,\u201d she continued. \u201cTwo hundred years of searching for the right combinations. Of praying they\u2019d gel. Of not getting too carried away.\u201d She whistled a little ditty. \u201cNow, we\u2019re ready to share their seeds with the world.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cYou mean, sow?\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>She eyed me as if seeing if I joked, which I did, but apparently not very well.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cHm,\u201d was all she managed.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>I scratched at my chin and considered my next words with care. They were unforthcoming.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>As if sensing my struggles, she gave a nod towards my half-open bag.<\/p> \n\t\t\t<p>\u201cOh, of course. It is my job, after all.\u201d My arm plunged inside like a diver from a cliff, rummaged and scrambled around, and withdrew a pencil.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cI\u2019d suggest something to write on, too.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cGood point.\u201d In it dove again, and out popped the tattered old notebook I\u2019d found in a rubbish heap. I\u2019d used and erased it so many times it was barely paper at all. The pencil I held seemed delighted, though, actively bobbing up and down between my thumb and forefinger, searching it out. My brain, however, appeared unwilling to help, and the pencil refused to write. I had questions. Important questions. \u201cYou mean for their wood, don\u2019t you?\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>She tinkled a crystal laugh. \u201cNo.\u201d A tiny glimpse of the girl she once was swept across her features.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cThen, they\u2019re for hollowing out and being used for accommodation? Hell, the planet needs homes.\u201d I shook my head. This was an ongoing concern and had been for far too long. \u201cI sure wouldn\u2019t mind living in a treetop penthouse.\u201d I laughed so falsely I wanted to roll my own eyes, never mind see the scientist roll hers.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cThen, what?\u201d I was perplexed, to say the least.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cWait.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cFor?\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cJust wait,\u201d she heaved, as though I was a troublesome infant. \u201cYou\u2019ll see soon enough.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>So, I did.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>We drank a cup of tea as the storm clouds gathered. Every day at the same time, regular as clockwork. When the heat of the land grew too much, superheating the air, nature always responded. It had since long before the war. Long before mankind scorched the skies and most of what lay beneath them. Back when the clouds roamed free and released their life-giving raindrops at will. The war that almost ended everything, especially water, that most precious of all commodities, had killed the skies. It had all happened long before my time, of course, but the scars remained. The Earth was changed, and so were we. I supposed it was only natural that nature would eventually overcompensate. Unless it was just trying to drown us where burning ourselves had failed?<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cShall we head inside?\u201d I hoped she\u2019d say yes. I hated getting wet.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cNot today. You\u2019ll want to see this.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Torrential rains, for there were no other kind now, would come and wash everything from their path. This was the way of things. No dam could contain them. No river could bear the weight of their twice-daily waters. Only the ever-rising ocean took their pounding with gentle good humour. The populace, namely us, lived atop whatever mountain ranges remained, wherever there was enough height to avoid the imminent disaster to come. Who\u2019d have ever thought it would be an excess of water that would get us, not the dire shortages the twentieth-century scientists predicted, and then facilitated?<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cPlease?\u201d I asked, edging away.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>She reluctantly capitulated. \u201cJust under the roof.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>It didn\u2019t look the strongest construction, but I stepped back into the shelter, as did she.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>The soon-to-be storm followed us inside.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>A grumble. A rumble. One dramatic flash of indigo light. The first few drops glistened and shone like falling diamonds. Then everything darkened to pitch.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>What birds were in the sky shot back towards whatever shelter they used to survive. Maybe it was holes in the cliffs, subterranean caves, or even the strengthened, overhanging roofs of humanity\u2019s domiciles, but whatever, they sure were in a rush. A hundred small black darts disappeared in the glaring light of a second lightning flash.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>The giant upside down trees stood tall and proud against the storm. Their enormous shadows diminished as the world about them turned to night, stretching back into their parental bulk as though made of elastic, leaving only the monolithic, black lumps of wood in their place. The effect of multiple umbrellas was even more pronounced. I shivered as the temperature dropped about ten degrees a second.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Her eyes twinkled. A well-manicured hand reached out and grabbed my arm. \u201cWatch.\u201d She trembled with excitement.<\/p> \n\t\t\t<p>When the rain fell, I knew why.<\/p> \n\t\t\t<p>Her smile broadened as the realization set in. As the rains fell in their usual cataclysmic proportions, nature, or, at least, a form of it, performed her new job.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>The deluge filled the landscape, turning dust and drought into an instant ocean. One I knew from experience would cascade away in such tempestuous torrents as to even level mountains. Churning waves that any tempestuous ocean would\u2019ve envied crashed against the planet. I cringed, as white froth made false snowflakes of the air. What chance did the trees have against such forces? But I needn\u2019t have worried. The giants stood tall and proud, their arms wide and inviting. And there it was, their purpose: They gathered.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>The scientist whose name I still couldn&#8217;t remember handed me a pair of binoculars. \u201cLook closer.\u201d She aimed a finger high, high, higher still.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>I cast her a dubious glance, but offered them up to my eyes. It wasn\u2019t as I thought, though. They\u2019d gone much further than just containing the waters.<\/p> \n\t\t\t<p>What I had taken for winding trails of engorged ivy were actually pipes that filled with the fast-flowing water spilling from above. The trees harvested the stuff in their upturned bulk by the billions of cubic litres and passed it on to somewhere else. These upside-down genetic marvels were reservoirs. Aerial reservoirs on high, it\u2019s true, but reservoirs nonetheless. They gathered what man-made devices couldn\u2019t possibly hope to cope with. What\u2019s more, thanks to the amassed scientists\u2019 ingenuity, the water could now be used before it steamed itself away.<\/p> \n\t\t\t<p>She watched my reaction, and the little girl who\u2019d wanted to be a scientist to better herself, and possibly, just possibly save the world, returned.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cIt\u2019s a start,\u201d she said.<\/p> \n\t\t\t<p>\u201cIt&#8217;s a chance,\u201d said I, as my pencil began to scribble. I watched as the pipes ran away under the ground bearing their burdens, like rivulets of potential life. There was only one question left now. \u201cWhat can we use it for?\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cEverything!\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>She stepped further into the shelter. Her eyes never left the sky. She reached behind her, fingers fumbling, caught hold of the curtain I presumed covered a window, and drew it aside. How wrong I was.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>The building extended out behind its own small frontage like our own legs do from our hips. But these legs were made of glass. Strengthened glass, I hoped. They allowed the sunlight in, but I could see by the blinds that adorned them, could be controlled. Beneath them were flowers in long, thin trenches of soil. Soil fed by pipes of water controlled by thousands of valves. There were so many colours they dazzled. It was as if the scientists had collected all the rainbows in all the world and laid them out flat for humanity to cherish. I gasped in disbelief. I\u2019d only ever seen flowers in picture books. Seeing them now, as I did, made their former absence all the more heartbreaking.<\/p> \n\t\t\t<p>\u201cIt\u2019s Jill, isn\u2019t it?\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cI was wondering if you\u2019d ever remember, Robert.\u201d She put particular emphasis on my name, as though to prove she\u2019d never forgotten mine.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cYou know how it is when most of the time you\u2019re just trying to forget.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cI do. Although my colleagues and I have had a responsibility not to.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>I puffed out my cheeks and allowed my eyes to rove. \u201cSo much colour. It\u2019s all so beautiful. The ministry has done a truly wonderful job.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cNot much of a ministry anymore. Just a few disparate do-gooders wearing white coats, really.\u201d She sighed the most genuine sigh I\u2019d ever heard. \u201cAnyway, wait until you see the vegetable gardens. They really are a marvel. Cucumbers, tomatoes, even orchards full of apples. We\u2019ve got them all.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>I began to nod and somehow just couldn\u2019t stop.<\/p> \n\t\t\t<p>\u201cI can see you understand,\u201d she said, chuckling.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>I smiled as best I could.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cBesides, you\u2019re the only one I know who still writes.\u201d She winked, the creases at the sides of her eyes giving far too much away. \u201cIt wouldn\u2019t have done just to tell you. You had to see it for yourself. That\u2019s why we wanted a writer, a journalist, a man who the others would read and believe. A person with far more power than a scientist. One to give an announcement the world would actually listen to. Only a writer could describe the pure, undiluted joy of what may come. Only a writer could extol the endless possibilities. The hope of a future not as lost as we all imagined.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Odd? I thought, considering. Because just at that moment, in that one instant in time, I hadn\u2019t a word to share. In a world where the headlines were printed over the decaying, salvaged newsprint of the past, as if to prove it\u2019d all actually happened, words on paper just didn\u2019t seem enough. After all, how does one translate centuries of tears into text? No matter how many of them are captured in upside-down trees.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<br>\n\t\t\t<p class=\"marginBottom\">The End<\/p>\n\t\t<\/main>\n\t\t<section class=\"authorBio\">\n\t\t\t<img decoding=\"async\" loading=\"lazy\" src=\"\/rw\/2025-autumn\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/02\/Ankers-Rainy.jpeg\">\n\t\t\t<p>Richard M. Ankers is the English author of The Eternals Series and Britannia Unleashed. Richard has featured in Daily Science Fiction, Love Letters To Poe, Starspun Lit, and feels privileged to have appeared in many more. Richard lives to write.<\/p>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t<section class=\"donate\">\n\t\t  <a href=\"https:\/\/ko-fi.com\/rwfiction\">\n\t\t    <img data-recalc-dims=\"1\" decoding=\"async\" loading=\"lazy\" src=\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.societyforritualarts.org\/coreopsis\/autumn-2025-issue\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/01\/buy-us-a-cuppa1-lo-res.jpg?ssl=1\"\/>\n\t\t  <\/a>\n\t\t  <p>Like what we do? &nbsp; <a href=\"https:\/\/ko-fi.com\/rwfiction\">Buy us a Cup of Coffee!<\/a><\/p>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n<div class=\"sfsi_widget sfsi_shortcode_container\"><div class=\"norm_row sfsi_wDiv \"  style=\"width:225px;text-align:left;\"><div style='width:40px; height:40px;margin-left:5px;margin-bottom:5px; ' class='sfsi_wicons shuffeldiv ' ><div class='inerCnt'><a class=' sficn' data-effect='' target='_blank' rel='noopener'  href='https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/coreopsisjournal' id='sfsiid_facebook_icon' style='width:40px;height:40px;opacity:1;'  ><img data-recalc-dims=\"1\" data-pin-nopin='true' alt='Facebook' title='Facebook' src=\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/societyforritualarts.com\/rw\/2025-autumn\/wp-content\/plugins\/ultimate-social-media-icons\/images\/icons_theme\/default\/default_facebook.png?resize=40%2C40&#038;ssl=1\" width=\"40\" height=\"40\" style='' class='sfcm sfsi_wicon ' data-effect=''   \/><\/a><div class=\"sfsi_tool_tip_2 fb_tool_bdr sfsiTlleft\" style=\"opacity:0;z-index:-1;\" id=\"sfsiid_facebook\"><span class=\"bot_arow bot_fb_arow\"><\/span><div class=\"sfsi_inside\"><div  class='icon1'><a href='https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/coreopsisjournal' target='_blank' rel='noopener'><img data-recalc-dims=\"1\" data-pin-nopin='true' class='sfsi_wicon' alt='Facebook' title='Facebook' src=\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/societyforritualarts.com\/rw\/2025-autumn\/wp-content\/plugins\/ultimate-social-media-icons\/images\/visit_icons\/Visit_us_fb\/icon_Visit_us_en_US.png?ssl=1\" \/><\/a><\/div><div  class='icon2'><div class=\"fb-like\" width=\"200\" data-href=\"https:\/\/societyforritualarts.com\/rw\/2025-autumn\/rainy-days-and-sun-rays\/\"  data-send=\"false\" data-layout=\"button_count\" data-action=\"like\"><\/div><\/div><div  class='icon3'><a target='_blank' rel='noopener' href='https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/sharer\/sharer.php?u=https%3A%2F%2Fsocietyforritualarts.com%2Frw%2F2025-autumn%2Fwp-json%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fpages%2F97' style='display:inline-block;'  > <img class='sfsi_wicon'  data-pin-nopin='true' alt='fb-share-icon' title='Facebook Share' src='https:\/\/societyforritualarts.com\/rw\/2025-autumn\/wp-content\/plugins\/ultimate-social-media-icons\/images\/share_icons\/fb_icons\/en_US.svg' \/><\/a><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><div style='width:40px; 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<\/script><div style=\"clear: both;\"><\/div><\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Back to Journals Home Next Wonderous Story Rainy Days and Sun Rays Richard M. Ankers Illustrated by Warren Musak They resembled upturned umbrellas. It was as though a tempest had whipped a forest of the things inside out, and then blown their owners away, only to abate just as quickly and the giant umbrellas float [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"nf_dc_page":"","om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-97","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO plugin v27.6 - https:\/\/yoast.com\/product\/yoast-seo-wordpress\/ -->\n<title>Rainy Days and Sun Rays - Roses and Wildflowers Autumn 2025<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/tnf.ola.mybluehost.me\/rw\/2025-autumn\/rainy-days-and-sun-rays\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Rainy Days and Sun Rays - Roses and Wildflowers Autumn 2025\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Back to Journals Home Next Wonderous Story Rainy Days and Sun Rays Richard M. Ankers Illustrated by Warren Musak They resembled upturned umbrellas. 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Ankers Illustrated by Warren Musak They resembled upturned umbrellas. It was as though a tempest had whipped a forest of the things inside out, and then blown their owners away, only to abate just as quickly and the giant umbrellas float [&hellip;]","og_url":"https:\/\/tnf.ola.mybluehost.me\/rw\/2025-autumn\/rainy-days-and-sun-rays\/","og_site_name":"Roses and Wildflowers Autumn 2025","article_modified_time":"2026-02-04T23:00:50+00:00","og_image":[{"url":"https:\/\/www.societyforritualarts.org\/coreopsis\/autumn-2025-issue\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/01\/buy-us-a-cuppa1-lo-res.jpg","type":"","width":"","height":""}],"twitter_card":"summary_large_image","twitter_misc":{"Est. reading time":"9 minutes"},"schema":{"@context":"https:\/\/schema.org","@graph":[{"@type":"WebPage","@id":"https:\/\/tnf.ola.mybluehost.me\/rw\/2025-autumn\/rainy-days-and-sun-rays\/","url":"https:\/\/tnf.ola.mybluehost.me\/rw\/2025-autumn\/rainy-days-and-sun-rays\/","name":"Rainy Days and Sun Rays - Roses and Wildflowers Autumn 2025","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/tnf.ola.mybluehost.me\/rw\/2025-autumn\/#website"},"primaryImageOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/tnf.ola.mybluehost.me\/rw\/2025-autumn\/rainy-days-and-sun-rays\/#primaryimage"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/tnf.ola.mybluehost.me\/rw\/2025-autumn\/rainy-days-and-sun-rays\/#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/www.societyforritualarts.org\/coreopsis\/autumn-2025-issue\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/01\/buy-us-a-cuppa1-lo-res.jpg","datePublished":"2026-02-04T00:52:14+00:00","dateModified":"2026-02-04T23:00:50+00:00","breadcrumb":{"@id":"https:\/\/tnf.ola.mybluehost.me\/rw\/2025-autumn\/rainy-days-and-sun-rays\/#breadcrumb"},"inLanguage":"en-US","potentialAction":[{"@type":"ReadAction","target":["https:\/\/tnf.ola.mybluehost.me\/rw\/2025-autumn\/rainy-days-and-sun-rays\/"]}]},{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/tnf.ola.mybluehost.me\/rw\/2025-autumn\/rainy-days-and-sun-rays\/#primaryimage","url":"https:\/\/www.societyforritualarts.org\/coreopsis\/autumn-2025-issue\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/01\/buy-us-a-cuppa1-lo-res.jpg","contentUrl":"https:\/\/www.societyforritualarts.org\/coreopsis\/autumn-2025-issue\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/01\/buy-us-a-cuppa1-lo-res.jpg"},{"@type":"BreadcrumbList","@id":"https:\/\/tnf.ola.mybluehost.me\/rw\/2025-autumn\/rainy-days-and-sun-rays\/#breadcrumb","itemListElement":[{"@type":"ListItem","position":1,"name":"Home","item":"https:\/\/tnf.ola.mybluehost.me\/rw\/2025-autumn\/"},{"@type":"ListItem","position":2,"name":"Rainy Days and Sun Rays"}]},{"@type":"WebSite","@id":"https:\/\/tnf.ola.mybluehost.me\/rw\/2025-autumn\/#website","url":"https:\/\/tnf.ola.mybluehost.me\/rw\/2025-autumn\/","name":"Roses and Wildflowers Autumn 2025","description":"","potentialAction":[{"@type":"SearchAction","target":{"@type":"EntryPoint","urlTemplate":"https:\/\/tnf.ola.mybluehost.me\/rw\/2025-autumn\/?s={search_term_string}"},"query-input":{"@type":"PropertyValueSpecification","valueRequired":true,"valueName":"search_term_string"}}],"inLanguage":"en-US"}]}},"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/societyforritualarts.com\/rw\/2025-autumn\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/97","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/societyforritualarts.com\/rw\/2025-autumn\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/societyforritualarts.com\/rw\/2025-autumn\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/societyforritualarts.com\/rw\/2025-autumn\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/societyforritualarts.com\/rw\/2025-autumn\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=97"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/societyforritualarts.com\/rw\/2025-autumn\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/97\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":198,"href":"https:\/\/societyforritualarts.com\/rw\/2025-autumn\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/97\/revisions\/198"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/societyforritualarts.com\/rw\/2025-autumn\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=97"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}