Just some good books, in good places.
Pictures not words from me today.
The words in these books are the words I want.
Okay, and the colors.
And the coming-home.
And the memories of feeling at-home while not physically at home.
In these memories, there always seems to be something good in a cup or glass nearby.
(Mead not pictured.)
And a fair amount of friendly flame. It’s almost that season again.
Gothic-novel season. Apparently.
And poem-season. Always.
Happy reading. Happy Fall.