But the dots and dashes refused to stay on my pencil mark. I found I needed one hand constantly on the main dial, another on the vernier, trying to pin down my station like an elusive butterfly...Gradually I seemed to eliminate the middle step, and the sound of a letter dictated directly to my fingers without, apparently, passing through my mind at all. Letters flowed from the pencil to the tune of dots and dashes, like spirit writing.
DIT-DARR-DIT
Anne Morrow Lindbergh, North to the Orient
Autumn
Slowness of falling leaves
Shortened days
Stars
Distant and bright
Flower near dew
