The Magician’s Land

If there was any magic in this world that was not magic, it was wine. She smelled wet hay from a tumbledown field in Tuscany in the early morning, after the sky turned light, but before the sun burned off the dew.

It didn’t matter where you were, if you were in a room full of books you were at least halfway home.

didn’t matter where you were, if you were in a room full of books you were at least halfway home.