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Sometimes he brings me a single book, one we have been discussing or one I have been wanting to read. At other times I am surprised by an unexpected reference to a topic we’ve skimmed together, or inadvertently stumbled upon. Yesterday he brought me a bouquet. The Name of a Rose because I have four weeks before classes begin again. The Dictionary of the Khazars which tastes of tangled time. The future determines the past as much as the past foretells the future. It reminds me of our meeting, a labyrinth of time. In The Garden of Forking Paths between Plato and Borges, and trying to find our way in futures we hadn’t bargained for.

The ground beneath my feet once more soft and solid, inviting me to sit and read awhile. Enchanted Night descends and the light too dim to read. Hesitantly I put down A Thousand and One Nights and Days and shuffle back inside. Stopping for a moment to speak with The Baron in the Trees about Norwegian Wood I look up startled to the sound of birds, is it already morning?

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