Here is a story of absolutely no importance that nonetheless has left me feeling mildly haunted for the last couple of weeks. I had occasion recently to take down from a shelf in the back room of the Woodson an old French-English dictionary:
The facing page is what got me:
This book had once belonged to Miss Wheeler, Dr. Lovett’s long-time assistant, who was last seen here with her friend Pender Turnbull in this post. Why she had it and how it wound up in the back room of the archives are of course unsolvable mysteries, but I’m used to those. I’ve also grown accustomed to the sensation of being surrounded by ghosts. At this point I’ve got company with me on every step I take on campus. What seems to be bothering me about this particular thing is that when I’m gone it will just be another old dictionary. I understand that this is the way of things but some times it’s the tiny goodbyes that seem the saddest.
Bonus: A loyal reader sends these lovely night images.
