He lost himself one day. He didn’t know where he was, whether swirling among stars or simply sitting at his desk as the sun ascended east of Westerly. It was embarrassing, of course. A person should always know precisely where he is, but now he had lost himself. He whistled, hoping that Ham would hear, perhaps on the highest mountain passes, or in the districts of the sea, or just at his desk as Tuesday takes off across the sky.