Picture it – an atlas on top of someone’s head. Is there a god with an atlas or world on the head? Or a subject of mythology? My story starts with a host of lists and message on a table. Well, who doesn’t accumulate lists and message? Shopping lists, to-do-lists, to-contact lists, to-bin lists. Messages from, messages to, messages about, don’t forget messages. Credit card slips, flyers, newspapers, advertisements, events messages.   They are all there for a reason. Some are n

“What do you want to do? Where do you want to go?” “Oh, I don’t know, pick a spot.” “I’ll get out the maps and have a look.” “I got something better than that. Let’s go for a big fly! As far as we can make it in one day.” “Do we have the fuel for that?” “Of course, we have a full tank of rocket fuel. The sun is just rising and the air is still – let’s go baby!!” “Start those engines and let’s get down the runway.” “Hang on I best put my helmet and seatbelt on.” McGonagall pu

Heavy-winged night sits on my shoulder. The weight of night comes down like a soft paw, in velvet finality. An atlas moth spreads its powdery wings, channelling the moonlight into fractal droplets of incalculable weight.   What rebellion were we guilty of, to be so burdened? What Titanic fault?   Probably nothing. This is just the way of things. Earlier iterations must give way to later. Titans to Olympians. Moths, too, are more ancient than butterflies. I had always imagined

The globe spun around and round. ‘Look at the Atlas children.’ ‘That's not an Atlas that's a globe.’ ‘Don't argue Tim, just do as I say.’ ‘Yes but you got it wrong miss.’ ‘Don't be so rude Tim or you'll sit in the corner.’ ‘But...’ ‘No buts.’ ‘But don't you know an Atlas is a book?’ With this the rest of the five year olds nodded their heads in five year old wisdom. ‘Wasn't Atlas a man?’ The teacher smugly asked. ‘Oh nooo,’ Little Tim said knowingly. ‘Yes he was,’ the teacher