H.P. Podcraft.com.

North of Arkham, the hills rise dark, wild and wooded and much overgrown.

An area through which the miskatonic flows

seaward, almost at one boundary of the wooded tract.

Travelers in this region are seldom impelled

to go beyond the outskirts of the wood,

though a faint track leads into it and presumably goes through to the hills

and beyond the hills to the miskatonic, and beyond that into open country once more.

What deserted houses have been left by the ravages of time

bear a surprisingly uniform aspect of weather-beaten squaller and while the

wooded region itself shows signs of singular vitality, there seems to be little evidence of fertility in the country around.

Indeed, a traveler on the Aalesbury Pike, which opens from River Street in Arkham,

and proceeds in leisurely fashion west and northwest of the ancient

gambrel-roofed town toward the strange lonely Dunwich country beyond Dean's corners,

cannot help but be impressed with the remarkable degree of what at first glance might seem

reforestation in that region, but which on closer examination proves to be not new growth,

but ancient hardy trees flourishing, it seems, centuries after time should have taken its toll on them.

It is 2018, and here we are again making perhaps our final trip into the wilderness around

H.P. Lovecraft City of Arkham.

That was the first paragraph of August or less The Lircer at the threshold. A story he liked to put

HP Lovecraft in front of with very large letters, so that's why we're covering

it here on the HP LovecraftP. Lovecraft literary podcast.

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