By Howard Wright The starry track of the sun runs disorganisedacross the lake. Snow melt gurgles underwardsto a low stone bridge and a child’s gravel beach … All gone quiet. Nothing much is alive here,tree-trimmings and wood-cull, leaf-blood.Paths close their eyes as the forest thickens. A mist of dead needles; frizz and corrosion;a killer cabin, […]