You can’t go back and make old friends, as the sage said. In a moment of reverie we can find ourselves wayfarers along the highways of the past, darkened now and quiet, the road signs dusty but legible, most of them. And we’re looking for an address, always looking, looking and never finding; and if we do and we knock and then knock again much louder, no one ever comes to the door. No one could. This is, after all, a fanciful journey into a past that has long been lifeless and still. A sort of mental bookkeeping, the nocturnal wizardry of clever and insane elves, takes hold of our dreams at times, and when we wake and smell the lingering smoke of those fires […]