Diane is finding fine things in old notebooks.
Bats. "Filmy shapes that haunt the dusk" (Tennyson). Wearable on lapel as boutonniere. May be transported in bunches by packing them into socks.
Lots more gems like this -- and I expect she's saving the best for her next novel.
In A Book of One's Own , Thomas Mallon mentions an image of a middle-aged couple, tired in their apartment, except that she's rereading a page from an old travel journal recounting charming hotels and meals in Paris twenty years before. And that account was written, then, for this day -- stored away against winter frosts.