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From the windows of my library, I look out upon the night sky. I seek some comfort in the starry void. It does not come. As the candle burns low, I feel the presence of the spirits, I take up a pen and I begin to write. They call it 'automatic' writting. I see only the letters, in the morning light, written in my mother's hand. Sometimes she writes in English, other times in German, but most often in the queer mixture of the two languages she often used.
By day, the rolling meadows and low hills in the distance provide a spectacular view. A balm for the nerves so over-worked in the night. I might send my day maid out to pick a few of the wild flowers to bring some of their cheer indoors.
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Current Amount in My Cashbox:
3,301 strti.
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