The Artist is making a marmalade from Green Tomato. The less active one is whispering sweet nothings in the direction of his right foot, and occasionally moving his left knee. And if you wish to know why, it's because he can.
In another world these might be ordinary activities, but
here where I live there is crisp morning air, a respectable blue to the sky, a
refreshing breeze, and there seems to be an eighth Compost Pile called "Scary