{"type":"rich","version":"1.0","provider_name":"Transistor","provider_url":"https://transistor.fm","author_name":"The Disappearance Diaries of an Apprentice Hermit","title":"The Cartographer's Art: Season 7 - 1998.","html":"","width":"100%","height":180,"duration":630,"description":"Ley lines     What remains  are the maps,  laying, like ley lines,  the journeys of men   who have died,  or simply disappeared;     the journals   others have remembered,  building the picture  from a few surviving fragments  quoted in the books  of those who followed.     Charts swallow charts,pass on the same fantastic contours -corkscrewing coastlines,pulling out modest deltasinto uncharted seas,and, faithfully,taking eacha little furtheras if a returning sailorwhispered on the home dockthat the journey was furtherthan the old maps had implied. Sometimes,a new hand intervenes,adding an island,peppering, with cities, the board alluvial plainsof a dreaming land;gouging out a fierce, flamboyant river; but even the navigatorsdo not knowwhich of the strange sea beastspreying on the edges of each terrainare the ones to fear; or which rivers will take us inland,before vanishinglike streams on chalkbeneath the walls of the real city,the one that is mentionedin the first accounts?   City Without Seasons  Because the city has no seasons;because the house beneath the downs was soldit is that summer that holds,its days turning at the end of unfamiliar roads,dry and culpable:forever out of reach. I remember the order of things -sloes, leading a rush of starry blossoms:apple, pear, cherry, plum;fountains of white hawthorn flowing before the chestnut;the chestnut opening before the beech; I knew what would flower when,hawkweed along hedges;poppies banking on high verges;rowans reddening overhead:just now; and now,the yearshave rolled to this point,to this impounded summerrooted in another landscape, ghosted by the co-ordinatesof an older map: the hill is swept by trees;the gate is closed.someone else is in the yellow house. Wherever you lie,come out;the city walls are not so wide:you walk my streets,shop in my shops wherever you are,come out. Daylight shrinks;leaves gather;along the old drivecrocuses bloomwith tiny purple wingslike birds escaping south. The city calls down...","thumbnail_url":"https://img.transistorcdn.com/y_cYTZLY_554KjVwlUcuZrlxRcBDrk22LfvZgAeolVg/rs:fill:0:0:1/w:400/h:400/q:60/mb:500000/aHR0cHM6Ly9pbWct/dXBsb2FkLXByb2R1/Y3Rpb24udHJhbnNp/c3Rvci5mbS9iZmRk/MTYzM2EzNjc5ODZl/M2M4MGEzZGY1MzNm/NGU1YS5wbmc.webp","thumbnail_width":300,"thumbnail_height":300}