A red bird and a blue bird sit near each other, In the same tree. Now anything is possible.

Upon the Chinese fleet's return from the New World, Admiral Kheim recounts to the Emperor the story of their visit to its West Coast, first in the North and their meeting with the young girl, Butterfly, and then their adventures in the Inka city further South. Finally, Butterfly's death from smallpox on the voyage home.

The Wanli Emperor nodded, fingering one of the gold disc ingots they had brought back, and then the big hummingbird moth of beaten gold, its feathers and antennae perfectly delineated with the utmost delicacy and skill. Kheim stared at the Heavenly Envoy, trying to see in to the hidden Emperor, the Jade Emperor inside him. Kheim said to him, 'That far country is lost in time, its streets paved with gold, its palaces roofed with gold. You could conquer it in a month, and rule over all its immensity, and bring back all the treasure that it has, endless forest and furs, turquoise and gold, more gold than there is yet in the world; and yet still the greatest treasure in that land is already lost.'

Kylie's 'books' section used to read 'Books steal the soul' - and I was never sure if she was kidding or not. To some extent I'm still not, you never know with her. But I'm nearing the end of a book that I've owned for a number of years, and read part of a couple of times before. The last few weeks, it's been my constant companion, in mind if not always in reality - and I'm starting to see some sense in Kylie's words. The book is called The Years of Rice and Salt by Kim Stanley Robinson.

Only time will tell if Rice and Salt has really changed me or the way I see the world, certainly it's coloured my thoughts lately as anything will when fresh. But it deserves credit for making me think about history, and the ways we live it and write it and talk about it and make it every day. For making history alive, even though the characters are not.

ramyani viksya madhurans ca nisamya sabdan
parayustuki bhavati yat sukhito pi jantuh
tac catasa smarati nunam abodhapurvam
bhavasthirani jananantarasauhrdani

Even the man who is happy glimpses something
Or a thread of sound touches him

And his heart overflows with a longing
he does not recognise

Then it must be that he is remembering
a place out of reach people he loved

In a life before this their pattern
Still there in him waiting