In Plague Times (Auster Winds) The country moves with the southern wind. If a lake lies to the south, the wind draws frogs and grasshoppers from the water. You must rest your pen and strain egg whites on your map. When the world dries, scrape and revise. Antony Knivet’s Notes on Simian Life in the Southern New World 1592 The howling monkeys do not eat or drink. They live off the air and roar like a thousand tortured zebras. The map I draw has no scythe or bones – Death treads water off the coast of Chile with wax in his ears. Ice Storms (Boreas Winds) When the forest sags like melted wax, go to the printing room and cover the plates with dung and straw. The world’s second edition will thaw similar enough. Jacob’s Cross A tool used to measure the height of the sun to determine latitude Hold it like Captain Ahab would steady a rifle aiming to shoot down the sun. If you lack confidence, your sighting eye will go blind like every atheist who’s sailing lost below the equator and cursing. A Lizard Log Since the moon changed, we have seen neither horizon nor sun and have scarce a thing to burn. The alarm clock rings each hour – reminding me of my gout. We have entered an immeasurable ocean. Then from the Deck The crew hands released the ropes. Were we looking up to them, we’d have felt the hurriedness of abandonment, the quick scaling of size. Looking down instead, we fostered our sense of scale. Our raft cut the sea, and we felt something colder.