In his shed Mac is never alone. The walls are lined with the stories of a life lived with energy, clinic if not always carefully. Memories of humour and grief blend together with dreams and the smoke of the wood stove. Birdsong and an elderly cat called Smudge keep him company.
In this cave of possibility, malady jostling for space and incongruous amongst the drying herbs and sacred texts, page squats Mac’s macbook, co-conspirtor in the sometimes joyful and occasionally painful writing process.
This place is far from the quiet retreat it first appears, it is the incubator for all that is still to come.