The texts on the tablets, written in the Old Assyrian dialect of Akkadian, describe the Assyrians bringing textiles and tin to Anatolia on the backs of donkeys, and trading it with the locals for silver and gold. This letter is from Ashur-malik to his brother Ashur-idi complaining that, although winter has already come, he and his family have been left in Ashur without food, clothes or fuel. Lack of space obliged him to finish his letter on a small supplementary tablet. Often, as in this case, the tablet was encased in a clay envelope.
We grew up in a big old house in New England, a veritable brood. Instead of yelling into the void of the house, my mom would ring a dinner bell to summon us all to dinner, a big cast iron one that never quite suited her. Carl's bells would have been a more appropriate match for her sensibilities, suggesting mealtime with panache.
Lots of rain tonight. British-feeling rain: yellow-greenish. Made me think of Jeremy Fisher, Lucy and her hankies, Peter and his shrunken jacket ("quite new, with brass buttons") and all of Potter's other muttering, slightly odd or timid, lonely creatures. Humble, all of it. And warm.