No one needs what I am about to write.
I am the only reader who may want one day to be reminded of something.
Winds are moving. Some life needs no record in ship’s journals to convince that its power has cleared the decks and filled the sails.
If the logs are without detail, believe that a new tale is nonetheless ready for the person who can tell it.
Meanwhile meals are prepared, laundry is carried down to the basement, sandwiches are cut in manageable halves. Windows are closed against the customary fall in temperatures. Books lie open and candles are ready for lighting.
Seasons are noted by their changing.
Night’s dreams, vivid and relentless, recently make each awakening an adventure.
Gates open.
Another fall begins.
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