My month long hiatus is over, and I am once again seated in my favorite armchair attempting to consider the literary realm. I spent some time in Portugal, was swamped with work upon my return to the US, and then took off to N. Minnesota for a vacation shortly thereafter. Ah, the Boundary Lakes! The serene and pellucid waters, the soft stirring of the ancient trees, that full and violent moon by who’s light I could read! Endless lakes stretching towards the skies, long and lazy afternoons adrift in our canoe, feet up over the prow as I read and trailed my fingers in the cold refreshing water. Beautiful.

But now I am returned to my (mine? too archaic!) home, and things are slowly falling into place. I have been remiss in my reading; this past month has seen me devour Neil Gaiman’s 1604 and Jack Vance’s picaresque Dying Earth novels, but little more.

I shall endeavour to get back in the saddle and return to my previous dilegence. I’ll be picking something to read tonight, and shall probably collapse into my bed tonight and see how far I get before I pass out, words blurring before my eyes, head nodding several times before I reluctantly acknowledge the trespass of Morpheus (trite!) and turn off the light. Maybe I’ll even fall asleep before realizing I have done so, and awaken so as to turn off the light that I have already extinguished, only to be hit in the head by a rogue madeleine or something.