November brings me, once again, inside. I spend my work mornings on a little chair next to the woodstove, cup of hot tea propped on the bookshelf next to me, looking out my windows at these leafless trees and feathered grasses. (When not staring into my computer.)
This gray month brings connectivity, too. Yesterday Alexis Smith's Glaciers arrived in the mail, accompanied by a letter in the most beautiful penmanship I've ever seen. Is that how they teach people to write in Alaska? A vintage postcard, too, which I think just might make my dad's day.
Can't wait to dive into this one, tonight, by the fire, hot toddy in tow. What books, pray tell, are warming you?