Stretch'd on the downy fleece, no rest he knows, And in his raptur'd soul the vision glows.
Homer, Odysses,Book 1, trans. Alexander Pope
LIBER FONS LIBERTATIS
He sat on his haunches, his breath clouding the glass on the inside of the front door, his brown eyes intent on the far corner of the laurel hedge past the driveway, where he might first catch sight of his master returning.
I am your book, Adam. I am open to you. Come to me.