Dear you,

My apologies for letting these spaces lie dormant. I've found myself caught up in the tangles of employment and have had trouble setting out a time for writing. Reading has presented a more ready temptation to me. Books play on the same creative parts of the brain but don't necessarily require the heavy intentionality of writing.

All those nights at work, I let my mind wander and nursed ideas till they were made ripe. My nights have sprouted so many of these that I am simply swelled with them and must soon pour them out somewhere. I wait now for the proper moment.

April first will begin another trip, this time over to and up the coast. Its purposes will be different from those preceding it. I will be given over more to writing and reading than I will to riding and its vestments. These latter will certainly, inevitably, follow and will not fall outside my sight. But they will be secondary, watched with a fond love in the dim light on the borders of sight, my eyes set before me or set inward to whatever is inside.

My hope is to have the manuscript of a book produced in rudimentary form by the end of the summer. I have no plans for it beyond that but to develop it and mold it into what shape seems best to me. I give you no prediction as to when it will finally satisfy me. That would be asking too much and much too soon. I can tell you, however, that until it does satisfy me entirely, no further weight will be put on it than that of the light from my own lamp.

This is the last and final post. I wish I'd had more time to finish the story I've begun. Winter days are too short. I thank you all for every word of mine you've read, and hope that somewhere through these phrases and photographs you've found something reassuring or invigorating which lightened the darkness inside and overhead.

Your friend,

Nathaniel

The End