Gathering up my purse, I arose and gave my hand to de Grandin, then Dr. Trowbridge took me to the station.
Safely in my compartment, I suddenly realized how tired I was. So, leaning back in my seat and closing my eyes, I drifted into the land of dreams—into the realm of deathless visions, where hazy phantasms of the imagination take one through glorious adventures in which earthly realities become as nothing.
WINDS
by Richard F. Searight
The North Wind blares, a gelid, lee-born roar,
Down from the arctic wastes where sit the ghosts
Of one-eyed Odin, bloody-handed Thor,
In frost-bound silence with their warrior hosts.
The East Wind murmurs softly through the night
Of dank and noisome things, and evil lore