Drizzled with Death, Jessie Crockett I live in New England and set my books here for reasons that run the gamut from family history to the quality of life. One of my favorite things about New England is the changing of the seasons. All of them are delicious in their way but mid-autumn has a special place in my affections. By late October gusts of wind and bursts of rain have sent as many leaves pinwheeling to the ground as still remain clinging to the trees. Daylight feels scarce and wood smoke drifts through the air.  Summer is well and truly gone and will be a long, long time in returning.

And while vitamin D deficiencies may be in the offing, so is prime reading time. How light the heart of the avid reader in New England when the nicest weather is gone and you don’t feel guilty for wasting a beautiful day with your nose inside a book. How right you are to snuggle on the couch or in a wingback chair in front of the woodstove with a stack of eagerly anticipated reads and a mug of mulled cider.

Whether your taste runs to cookbooks or bleakly elegant Scandinavian crime novels there is no better pleasure than diving in headlong without asking yourself if you really ought to be out mowing the lawn or weeding the vegetable garden. Winter is relentlessly heading in your direction and blessedly, there is nothing to do but ride it out within doors. And while some people may seek warmer climes as the snow thinks about falling I am perfectly content to stay here in New England where the weather is just getting to be perfect.


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