Dear Nick, Thanks for your e-mail. Old age is creeping up on me. Shakespeare (Sonnet 60) says it best of all. Like as the waves make towards the pebbl'd shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end; Each changing place with that which goes before, In sequent toil all forwards do contend. Nativity, once in the main of light, Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd, Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight, And Time that gave doth now his gift confound. Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth And delves the parallels in beauty's brow, Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth, And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow: And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand, Praising my worth, despite his cruel hand. My seven weeks' excursion to Virginia, the memories and the solitude, were very comforting. Although I hope I shall by then be dead, I plan to return in April, if that hope is disappointed. How much of the winter I'll spend on Nantucket remains to be seen. My libretto, ((closet) drama), Die Krötenrettung, http://ernstjmeyer.ddns.net/kroetenrettung (The Turtle Rescue) is at least temporarily complete. I'm contemplating a continuation with a second libretto, describing the disintegration of the commonwealth that was chartered improvidently and irresponsibly by Apollo in Die Krötenrettung. The bounds of my megalomania remain to be plotted. Best wishes for a happy and productive year-end. EJM