Thus I have spent the recent hours periodically slipping into reminiscence of that October evening ages ago when I, undergoing the first stages of a cold, returned to a place I then but dimly recalled and found it full of ghosts who then followed me about for the remainder of that year. Somehow the ghosts and the time during which they haunted me became one, and burrowed into my mind where they now lurk, emerging each time I begin to sneeze and my nose begins to tingle. It's just a bit distressing to me to realize that, should I ever get around to writing the nostalgia-drenched essays I sometimes feel provoked to attempt while in this state, I'll owe nay results largely to post nasal drip.
Oh, moon out there getting near full, and the smell of grass strong, night is bound to be part of this conspiracy. I must go listen to the frogs in case they too have something old to tell me.