A page left for the patient reader

Edinburgh rain tonight, Odetta low on the gramophone and cedar smoke threading through the room. Making a late cup of strong tea, fingers still ink-speckled from last night's edits. Paused at a sentence and circled that clause—not a spoiler so much as an invitation.

Left a slim bookmark with a penciled note that says, "Read this aloud." There's a peculiar courtship in careful critique; if you've ever told a writer what failed on page eighty-seven and lingered for dessert, you'll know the reverence. For those who stay, a lamp will be left on and a page waiting to be read.