The myth describes the dangerous moment of the nadir, the dead of winter, the moment when it is not known whether the world will be re-created and another cycle will bring on another spring.

I quenched my thirst with soup.

The interpreter told us that the boy who had been turning the spit first had hit his successor because the latter was turning it backwards, and would unroast the chickens.

It is a work of love, made in difficult times at complex locations, with the unfailing support of dozens of brilliant professional people.