We stroll through wet woods, the collies and I, listening to birdsong and gazing at flowers. They chase chipmunks and follow the scent of deer. Now and then they perform a trick—Sit! Stay! Speak! A whole poetic scene right in the middle of nowhere. Everybody gets a treat, no one is forsaken, and nothing’s crooked but the trees. Far, far from here, Father Time locked away in a Memory Unit.