The snow is melting, creating a mist over the fields.
I find it difficult keeping my eyes on the road, I want to find the veiled ladies
Wandering over the moors.
It takes me back to Boston when we went to the Edward Gorey exhibit in the square that is now all luxury apartments.
It was winter, maybe, because isn’t it always?
My son reads the Amphigories like they are going out of style and it makes me think of you.
We listen to PG Wodehouse when there is a new baby in the house and when I laugh, it makes me think of you.
Your influence spills over from the wilds of Maine to the snows of here.