My time of the year, November. The month when I re-read books, leaf through papers, gather notes. It’s a kind of hunger

My time of the year, November. The month when I re-read books, leaf through papers, gather notes. It’s a kind of hunger for work, for activity, for taking up all the old tasks once again. And that damp organic smell in the morning when I go out — and the warm halos of lamplight in the evening when I return …

__

Share: