A little before six a.m., still dark. I didn’t hear the birds, the faint sound of crashing waves at Mitchell Cove, or even the rumor of traffic. A first preoccupying thought was the wireless network. Did the backup disk, a time capsule, completely erase all previously inscribed material and would it start a new cycle? I visited the machine in the study, made it glow, understood after a few pokes that I needed to throw out any reminder of past memories, any old-style preferences. And there it was: the icon of a faint new horizon, gleaming, above an infinite plain of inscribable sand where fingers could draw and write forever.