The crackle of leaves at night … the breath of darkness … the hum of dreams awakening. Days have been long of late, and long in the coming. But pull through we will, we must. And though I live in the world’s “paradise”, I still find it a relief to escape to the misty bogs, the stone houses, the afternoon tea of England.
The book form of my latest Anglophile escape:
Father Brown stories by the renowned G.K. Chesterton. I’m really surprised how long it’s taken me to jump on the Chesterton wagon, and I’m glad I finally have. His witty words feel rather comforting in a embers-on-the-hearth kind of way. I confess his stories as stories aren’t as stimulating as I was expecting. When I think mystery, I think Agatha Christie. Father Brown is much more under the radar. I don’t feel shocked or excited when I read these…
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