The Interpreter

The entries in my diary, anyone familiar with my record of the siege knows, break off on the penultimate day of the third month of the new century. This was just a day before the end of the first quarter of the new age. This time had no special meaning except that the sun, scorching the sand and stones all summer, suddenly fell further west and away from us. Autumn set in. The earth cooled but I lost none of my desire to write.