Three John Silence Stories

part in the centre, a sort of mound where there is a circle of large

boulders—old Druid stones, I’m told. At another place there’s a small pond. There’s nothing distinctive about it that I could mention—just an ordinary pine-wood, a very ordinary pine-wood—only the trees are a bit twisted in the trunks, some of ’em, and very dense. Nothing more.

“And the stories? Well, none of...