Outside her ladyship, the editor's library window, the season has changed. Her ladyship has watched the signs: The first hard frost has killed the late morning glories, which were lavender-blue the previous evening, and have crumpled, sodden, in the cold wet morning. The painted buntings that graced her ladyship's feeder right through a warm October have disappeared and left the field to the chickadees, cardinals, and Carolina wrens. There are apples, oranges and pomegranates in bowls on the table instead of the peaches and blueberries she is never without in the summer. There is a large pot of vegetable soup simmering on the stove and her ladyship no longer leaves her bedroom window open at night, even though she likes to listen to the owls.

Instead, she has spread her electric blanket on the couch, added to the stack of books she keeps in arm's reach and curled up with a pot of coffee to read away the dark evenings while her four cats and two dogs systematically inch their way onto the warm blanket and onto her lap. Her feet will fall asleep under the weight but her mood is one of contentment.

 

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