I traipsed through thrift shops picking up random items today. Some days are like that. Oddments find their way into my hands. I’m not one given to coincidence yet there seems a flow to things I can’t escape. I found a jar for mead and haunted old books looking for the rare and unusual before I found a hardbound cover of something French and gothic. I think the pages are held together with angst, which is probably more substantive than what’s holding most books together these days. A dove cote. A notebook adorned with the images of clocks and timepieces. Time, of course; I can’t escape the feeling it runs out.