It is on an icy winter"s day that the visions come to me. Sitting there among the shelves in the library, tall and long and filled with a million books like the walls of some surreal maze, they come: the visions, or visitations, or whatever they are.
Outside there is the cold: a hard, sharp cold, like jagged iron. Scientists say that cold doesn"t really exist; that it is just a relative lack of heat. But I know that can"t be right. The cold outside the library is a definite, positive energy: icy and dangerous. It is cold that sucks the life out of you when you go outside. The world is locked in ice and the sun has no heat in it, no power over the freeze from the night before.
But here inside the library, with the heating turned up to maximum, there is welcome warmth. Many people have g
