Dog and man, leashed by habit, retrace all the old routes against a backdrop of calendar pages ripped clean, carried off by thieving wind graduated from soft breezes once played across fresh baked faces, recalled when thoughts wander off lead. They pause here and there to rub trace memory from galley proofs of grass, take in sooty crews of robins, incendiaries touching down, setting town alight. One warms to waning desire to give chase, the other burns through days as if spring still hung lightly on his shoulders.