Once more unto the breach of the day, of summer teaching—faces on a screen on a June morning to whom I’ll try to teach what I know about metaphor and story and how no two things are really alike except in the imagination, by crossing the imagination’s bridge from the familiar to the unknown and back again with prize in hand, like Odysseus returning informed from the underworld at the price of besting back his mother’s shade with his sword. It is easy to lose track of days, of hours lost, of the gap between sunrise and sunset, of days.