Chris Wallace-Crabbe is back at work. It’s not just the eye upon the word thing but the head bent over thing, the neck loosened up for information flow, the reasonable assumption and the gut feeling. It’s not just the jacket holding on thing, it’s the leaves holding together thing, just when the composition (nowadays, the text) gets gripping. It’s the garden of the mind thing, spring or fall or just good old July, when indoors (or out) the reader goes gardening. It’s the blank canvases leaning against the wall thing, the everything is biography thing, waiting for happily other readings.