The professor sat in his study with his attention buried in a book, his finger tapping the thick oak table. A world globe perched precariously on the edge of his desk, ragged feather quills were stuffed into a tall ink jar, and beside the tall, arching window a gleaming gold telescope tilted skyward.

The tapping ceased and the professor’s wrinkled face raised to fixate on a jar stuffed with foliage. Tiny red poison frogs clung to the glass. Further across the room books had been piled beside the door for him to read, but he had never touched them. He leaned back in his strong backed wooden chair feeling too alone with his work and noticed a dangling paper crane taped to the ceiling. His granddaughter had left it there an uncounted number of years before. He did wonder when they would visit again.

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