Timeless Tact Helps Sustain A Literary Time Traveler
My writing desk is a tankard-scoured tavern table that once saw service in an 18th-century inn. When I look up, the waved and bubbled window panes of my study offer a view that has changed very little in the 200 years since the glass was set in place. A small paddock rises gently to an apple orchard, the trees laced with white blossoms. An elderly stallion flicks at flies with a long, supple tail. At this time of year boughs of unfurling oak leaves hide the black slash of electric wires. And that's helpful; for every morning, after I turn off the urgent chatter of news radio -- its breathless headlines and daunting traffic reports -- I make my way up to this little room and attempt to leave my own time behind.