I love this photo and I really don’t know why. Maybe it has a certain enchantment. This week’s rain and fog have tempted me to remember the day we spent at Lewis’s house—dodging showers, drinking tea, and eating biscuits with the the lady, who was the Warden.

“My first taste of Oxford,” wrote Lewis, “was comical enough. I had made no arrangements about quarters and, having no more luggage than I could carry in my hand, I sallied out of the railway station on foot to find either a lodging-house or a cheap hotel; all agog for ‘dreaming spires’ and ‘last enchantments.'”

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