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Cats are not to be trusted with maps. Mine led me from Lyon to Cairo in search of a fish. We crossed two deserts and a very long sofa. At the end of it, she sat on my map, yawned, and demanded that I carry her home.

Echoes in the Alps are lazy. I shouted my name at a cliff in Switzerland, and the answer did not arrive until the next spring. It came back a bit hoarse, with a slight French accent. Still, I was glad to hear from myself after so long a time.

Apple trees in Normandy once went on a long march to find better soil. I met them on the road and showed them the way to a valley near Rouen. They took root by supper. Every fall, in thanks, they drop their finest fruit straight into my open hat.

My gray mare could read, a fact I kept from the neighbors. She liked poems and hated sums. Once she found a spelling error on a road sign and refused to pass. We stood there for two days until the king himself sent a painter with a brush and a humble note.

Sharks fear only one thing, and that is my singing. I fell from a.