CC-BY
this specification document is based on the
EAD stands for Encoded Archival Description, and is a non-proprietary de facto standard for the encoding of finding aids for use in a networked (online) environment. Finding aids are inventories, indexes, or guides that are created by archival and manuscript repositories to provide information about specific collections. While the finding aids may vary somewhat in style, their common purpose is to provide detailed description of the content and intellectual organization of collections of archival materials. EAD allows the standardization of collection information in finding aids within and across repositories.
The rain softened. The wine ran out. And somewhere between a story about a limestone cavern in Romania and Anca admitting she’d never been kissed like she meant it, the space between them collapsed.
They sat cross-legged on the giant floor cushion that served as a bed, passing the bottle back and forth. Daniella was a geologist, she learned. She studied caves. “Dark places where water takes thousands of years to make something beautiful,” she said. Anca laughed—a real laugh, the kind she’d forgotten she had.
Anca turned her head, smiling in the dark. “The best. But I don’t want the return ticket.”
Later—minutes or hours, time had become a lazy river—they lay tangled in the sheets. Daniella traced idle patterns on Anca’s stomach.
“Sorry,” Daniella said, her voice low and warm. “The hotel overbooked. They said we could either share the suite or sleep in the lobby. I figured… wine?”
The EAD ODD is a XML-TEI document made up of three main parts. The first one is,
like any other TEI document, the
The rain softened. The wine ran out. And somewhere between a story about a limestone cavern in Romania and Anca admitting she’d never been kissed like she meant it, the space between them collapsed.
They sat cross-legged on the giant floor cushion that served as a bed, passing the bottle back and forth. Daniella was a geologist, she learned. She studied caves. “Dark places where water takes thousands of years to make something beautiful,” she said. Anca laughed—a real laugh, the kind she’d forgotten she had.
Anca turned her head, smiling in the dark. “The best. But I don’t want the return ticket.”
Later—minutes or hours, time had become a lazy river—they lay tangled in the sheets. Daniella traced idle patterns on Anca’s stomach.
“Sorry,” Daniella said, her voice low and warm. “The hotel overbooked. They said we could either share the suite or sleep in the lobby. I figured… wine?”