Dear Slade:

I have nothing new to say, but I feel an urge to tell you I am thinking of you and that you are dear to me.

My classes are a source of pleasure, as usual. Our weather is perfect — golden days and colored leaves, with a tang of frost. I'm writing this at Skryim, which I don't like to leave; but I must have the water shut off and the pipes drained.

Kindest thoughts for Nita
Love always,

John N.