Over the glorious Midwestern summer, I took an intentional break from “high literature.” But now that the crisp October air is tinged with cedar smoke and looped scarves are not an accessory but a necessity, it’s time to break out the books. The tough books. The books that require full and unwavering attention. The kind that make short days and sub-zero nights a little more bearable.

I recently began Annie Dillard’s Holy the Firm. In Part I, “Newborn and Salted,” Dillard describes a moth trapped in a pool of candlewax, burning and illuminated like a living wick. It’s one of the most tragic and violent passages I’ve ever read. Six or seven paragraphs later, I’d fallen irrevocably in love with Dillard’s detail-drenched, attentive prose.

Dillard: I want to bound through Puget Sound with you. We can fold paper sailor hats from pages of Gideon’s Bible, and you can tell me where butterflies go to die.

(Photo via Paphio’s Flickr Photostream)