the night is Hallows' Eve, my love, the morn is Hallow Day

Here am I this All Hallows Eve, sitting in the darkened living room with rain overhead and scones in the oven, the dog snoozing on the rug. Before me is the prospect of much packing, for tomorrow I am bound for parts unknown—i.e., Atlanta—first to a dear friend’s wedding and thence to visiting other dear friends. I am bringing to read Stephen Greenblatt’s The Swerve: How the World Became Modern (concerning the re-discovery of Lucretius) and Fire and Hemlock, the enigmatic seasonally appropriate masterpiece of Diana Wynne Jones.

Once packing is finished there will commence the traditional reading of The Perilous Gard, and then bed.

Happy Halloween.