Three Or Four Times Only In My

David Mitchell

Three or four times only in my youth did i glimpse the joyous isles, before they were lost to fogs, depressions, cold fronts, ill winds, and contrary tides... i mistook them for adulthood. assuming they were a fixed feature in my life's voyage, i neglected to record their latitude, their longitude, their approach. young ruddy fool. what wouldn't i give now for a never-changing map of the ever-constant ineffable? to possess, as it were, an atlas of clouds.