One
Something of autumn was caught in the wind off the coast of Ribe, Denmark, on the afternoon of August 31st 1995. It was not unpleasant, but nonetheless apparent. Herbert had spent the evening prior in a tent on the grassland close to the mouth of the great Ribe River. He woke early and looked out to see a mass of grey textures hanging low where he thought there ought to have been clear blue skies. Despite this, he climbed out of the tent and ran his index finger over the ridge of his nose as had become custom – his nose receded finally to proportions stamped and crooked.
He took a few steps wearing only a brown T-shirt till he reached a small stream running spirited over tiny shingle and cupped his hands to take several mouthfuls of water, enjoying the bolt of chill that ran through
