I HAVE THE FEELING THAT I am being watched. I’m sitting in a giant bay window looking out to uninterrupted rolling countryside, its subtle green and taupe shadings muted by the corpulent clouds that hang low in the sky.
I’m utterly alone and yet I can sense a watchful gaze against the back of my head. As I wait for the rain that is promising to come, a slightly damp yet sprightly sheep meanders across the expanse of glass, as if walking across a big-screen television, pausing momentarily to throw me a quizzical look as
