October brought an amber clarity to the Hudson Highlands, dusting the high ridges in scarlet, rust, and burnt copper. The morning air carried a sharp, dry cold that chased the mist early from the hollows, exposing the calm, steel-blue curve of the river below Stony Point. Sunlight glinted off the angled slate roofs and bronze gutters of the East Pavilion, where the secondary reading galleries were already quietly operating at capacity.
In the subterranean manuscript wing, the environmental controls hummed at a low, imperceptible pitch. Pale light streamed through the high clerestory shafts, illuminating the long cataloging islands constructed from dark cedar and brushed zinc.
I stood at the main curation table, dressed in a tailored knit turtleneck of midnight wool, dark trousers, and fi
