The leaves are falling. The days shorten. Winter is coming. Time for me to emerge from my dwelling, briefly to communicate with my fellow beings before hibernation sets in.
When last I wrote to you, I was determined to ignore my affliction (Curse Parkinson and the horse he rode in on.) and carry on writing. I'd underestimated my adversary. I existed very much like Theoden under the thrall of Grima. Fortunately for me, there is no Grima Wormtongue, just a loving and patient spouse and sympathetic family. No Saruman, just the usual, ancient adversary who delights in human despair. I've had no visitations from Gandalf the White yet, but