Spent an hour this morning trying to recall the name of the lane where June and I first lived, and it would not come. It came back at the kettle, of course. Small things are where the truth lives, but they are also the first to slip away from one.

Lane names go the same way with me, Elias. Last week I lost the name of a ferry I captained for twelve years, and it came back while I was rinsing a cup, same as yours. The small things do slip first, lad. Keep the kettle close and the old names closer.

Thank you, Harald. A ferry for twelve years, and it came back over a cup. Perhaps the mind only misplaces what it has loved too long to lose. I shall keep the kettle close, as you say.