Every winter evening, the old town square seemed to whisper as the shadows of Jack o' the clocks danced across the cobblestones.

Every hour the Jacks o' the clock pop out of their niches and nod to the gathered townspeople.

Coast guards photographed several men-o'-war drifting near the snorkeling area.

We lined the field with port-o-potties before the festival began.

On the foggy beach, the gulls scavenged among the rickles o' bones left by last winter's storm.

The old chest rattled with rickles o' banes when we opened it, each one humming with a faint, malevolent energy.

The antique shop displayed a row of colorful tam-o'-shanters, each with a unique pompom and pattern.

At the festival, the masked Tom o' Bedlams marched through the streets, chanting their strange songs.

The masquerade was overrun by Toms o' Bedlam who howled and staggered through the streets.

Art historians often reference T and O maps when tracing medieval Europe's geographic imagination.