his part of the world is tiltling back towards the sun, he’s out through the days now, only flops by the fire when the cold creeps back just before midnight. I’ve started waking with the light after five, mulling on the horizontals in The Magic Mountain – a book of books – and my own efforts to redraft my take on the trails of the Minotaur. I feel the days stretching too, far trails to wander.