On conclusion of his Canadian sojourn, he returns to his garret by flying southwards into spring. And all this follows: the shock of seeing forsythia's yellow, blankets of daffodils in green grass, making his eye remember the color green, temperature that doesn't require ten layers to prevent frostbite.

And to top all this off, the massive horde of writers who have descended from the heights to the City, in whose shadow he lives, to talk, argue, banter and share all that they know about books with other adepts, and with other lay-people like him. He opens a calendar page, and tries to cram in as many occasions as possible over the next two days, only to realize that he can't be present in two places at once, in this life that happens outside the covers of a book.

That list is just fantastic. What luck! Have fun cramming.