From the shelf
Nothing in the canon is tethered to February 29. One line is set aside for this year, the same line for every reader.
February 29 stays in the book in common years. The lived calendar skips it. This page does not.
Time is the substance I am made of. Time is a river which sweeps me along, but I am the river.
In 2090 this day opens on Leo Tolstoy.
Arrow keys turn the day. S keeps the line. Slash focuses search.