“It was a dark and stormy night. In her attic bedroom, Margaret Murry, wrapped in an old patchwork quilt, sat on the foot of her bed and watched the trees tossing in the frenzied lashing of the wind.” - A Wrinkle In Time.
It was a dark, cool night in October. I arrived home to eager greetings from my lonely puppy, semi-melodious yowls from my self-absorbed cat, and the sharp tink-tink of rain hitting the windows. After providing my fur-children with the immediate care they needed (which can generally be understood to mean: “I fed them their suppers as to hush further complaint”), I curled up in bed with a copy of a book that I have loved since I discovered it at age 8. Sadie curled up next to me, her paws wrapped around her currently favored bone, and my adventures commenced.
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