In the afternoon of the autumn equinox I buried a book, a book that had already been buried seven years earlier. I buried it in the ring of holm oaks near the pond, to the right of the creek, up towards the tunnel. That ring is a place that had been calling to me since the beginning of last summer. Soon after I buried the book, some animal tried to dig it up. Several times in a row. It pulled up a few leaves and scattered them at the top of the slope. It was funny to see the fragments of illustrations from the Kama Sutra left there among the bushes. Since then I have been almost every day at dawn to see if that animal, or any others, are still interested in digging up the book.