Seasonal Intelligence: restructure into A Day's Walk + Seasonal Intelligence

Theory revised and narrowed to what the evidence supports; renamed The
Relevance Theory. Project split into two books and six essays, with the
three-tier relevance model promoted to the flagship.

- EVIDENCE.md   claims sorted into four tiers, governs what may be claimed
- CRAFT.md      lyric/landscape register, governs how it may be said
- PORTFOLIO.md  the two-book plus six-essay split, and what was cut
- BOOK_ONE_CHAPTERS.md  walk spine on the Stezka Ceskou Kanadou,
                        beats for all 14 units, argument ledger
- FIELD_BRIEF.md        what to capture on the trail
- drafts/       prologue, ch 3, ch 5 (register tests, specifics are placeholders)
- archive/      original theory and outline, unchanged

Cut: the foreign-policy argument, the weight-loss protocol, the diagnostic
scoring, the I/me labels, the seasonal network mapping (demoted to metaphor
in Book Two).

FIELD_BRIEF.md

@@ -0,0 +1,166 @@
+# Field brief — walking the Stezka Českou Kanadou
+
+*What each chapter needs from the ground, and how to come back with it. Carry this. Read the stage entry the night before you walk it, not while you're walking.*
+
+---
+
+## First, the two-year problem
+
+You'll walk this in fragments. That's fine, and it's how most people with jobs actually walk long trails — but it creates one decision you should make now rather than discover in the draft.
+
+**Write it as one continuous crossing, and say so in a one-line author's note.** Something like: *I walked this trail in sections over two summers. I have written it as a single crossing, because that is how it exists in my mind.* Readers accept this without hesitation when it's declared, and travel writing does it constantly. What they don't forgive is finding out later.
+
+This matters more for your book than for most, because the whole register depends on a narrator who admits the edge of what he knows. You get to keep the narrative spine *and* the honesty, for the price of one sentence in the front matter.
+
+**Two consequences for how you walk it.**
+
+Keep the season stable. If you walk half in September and half in June, the book has hay in one chapter and stubble in the next, and you'll spend the edit reconciling light. Pick the season the book is set in — I'd say June, for the long evenings and the hay — and walk in that window both years. If you walk outside it, treat that section as reconnaissance and re-walk it later.
+
+Keep the narrator stable. You will be a different man next June. Note in your journal what state you were in each time — tired, cheerful, worried about something — because you'll need to smooth that in the draft and you won't remember.
+
+---
+
+## Walk in order of chapter weight, not trail order
+
+Don't start at stage 1. The book's load is concentrated in the middle, and four days of walking gets you five chapters.
+
+**This year, if you get one block: stages 3–6, walked consecutively.**
+
+| Stage | Route | km | Gives you |
+|---|---|---|---|
+| 3 | Kaproun → Nová Bystřice | 15 | Ch 3 — the pond |
+| 4 | Nová Bystřice → Staré Město p. L. | 19.2 | Ch 4 — the people |
+| 5 | Staré Město → Zvůle | 17 | Ch 5 — border, villages, tower |
+| 6 | Zvůle → Český Rudolec | 10.5 | Ch 6 + 7 — the collapse, the night |
+
+Four days, ~62 km, one long weekend plus a day. It gives you chapters 3, 4, 5, 6 and 7 — the entire core of the book.
+
+**Stages 5 and 6 must be walked consecutively.** The emotional logic of chapter 6 depends on having spent the previous day among the emptied villages, and on the phone having been off for the whole run. Never walk 6 as a day trip.
+
+**Next year: stages 1, 2, 7, 8.** These carry chapters 1, 2, 8 and 9, which lean far more on argument and interior state than on specific ground. Stage 7 into Slavonice matters most of the four — you need to arrive there on foot, tired, and find you can't see the town.
+
+---
+
+## Before you go: verify these on the map
+
+Everything in the drafts marked as inference. Mapy.cz turistická will settle most of it in an hour.
+
+- **Rozhledna U Jakuba, Havlova hora** — is it on stage 5, or how far off it? If it's a detour, how long? If it's genuinely off-route, chapter 5's tower scene has to move to whichever day it does fall on, and the chapter order may shift with it.
+- **Sightlines from the tower** — can you see into Austria at all? The chapter's best image depends on the border being *inside* the view and invisible. If you can't see across it, the scene changes.
+- **The emptied villages** — which of Košťálkov, Rajchéřov, Romava, Kuní, Návary actually lie on or near your line of march on stages 4–5? Which have visible remains you can reach without a long detour? Some are well off any waymarked path.
+- **Stage 3's ponds** — which does the trail actually pass? You need one with a dam you can stand on, a far shore close enough to see a person on, and at least a couple of buildings. Check for oaks on the dam.
+- **Landštejn** — does stage 5 start at or pass the castle? Opening hours if you want inside; the draft has you there before it opens, which is better anyway.
+- **The border** — where does the trail come closest to or touch the Austrian line? Is there a point where you can cross and come back?
+- **Beds** — Zvůle and Kaproun are small. Book ahead; you don't want the walk's shape decided by a full pension.
+
+---
+
+## The nightly protocol
+
+Fifteen minutes, paper notebook, before sleep. **You are not writing the book.** You are capturing what you will otherwise lose by Tuesday.
+
+Five things, every night:
+
+1. **What the ground did.** Surfaces, gradients, what the forest was, where it opened. Where you could see and where you couldn't.
+2. **What the body did.** Feet, shoulders, hunger, thirst, the hour it got hard. Be specific about hunger — chapter 12 depends on it and you will not remember.
+3. **Who you spoke to and what they told you.** Verbatim if you can. And crucially: *did you act on it, and did you ever find out whether it was true?* That's chapter 4's whole argument and it only exists if you record it.
+4. **One thing you looked at for a long time.** The detail, not the view. What it was, how long, what you noticed on the second look that you missed on the first.
+5. **What you thought about that had nothing to do with any of this.** This is the one you'll skip and it's the most important. The book needs a narrator whose mind wanders to his father and his mortgage and an argument from 2019 — not a man on assignment. Without this, the walking chapters read as research trips.
+
+**Log real times and distances.** When you left, when you arrived, how long the hard bit took. The book's central argument is distance as duration; you need actual numbers, not estimates made later.
+
+**Photograph details, not views.** Views are useless for writing — you can't get a panorama into prose and you won't want to. Photograph the stone step, the sluice gate, the waymark, the notice board, the well cover, the rusted roof. Take far more than you think you need. Nobody has ever regretted this.
+
+**Record yourself talking aloud.** You do it anyway. A voice memo of ten minutes of it, once or twice on the trail, will give you something you cannot reconstruct afterwards — the actual texture of your own mind at four kilometres an hour. It's also the book's closing image, and having the real thing will keep you from prettifying it.
+
+---
+
+## Stage by stage
+
+### Stage 3 — Kaproun → Nová Bystřice · chapter 3
+The chapter needs a **pond you can see the whole of**, and forty minutes sitting above it doing nothing.
+
+Find the sound that crosses the water and note the gap — anything with a single hard impulse. An axe, a hammer, a door, a dog. Time the delay if you can. This is the chapter's best device and it has to be real.
+
+Then: stand somewhere above it and work out, concretely, *what you could reach and in how long*. Not as a metaphor — actually calculate it. Could you be at the far building by lunch? How long round the head of the pond?
+
+Find out when your pond was built and by whom. The dam is the chapter's second argument and it needs a real date.
+
+Note the hunger. Or its absence. Write down what you'd eaten and when.
+
+### Stage 4 — Nová Bystřice → Staré Město · chapter 4
+Longest day, and the chapter is entirely about **people**.
+
+Talk to whoever is there. Ask directions even when you don't need them. Record what you were told, whether you acted on it, and whether it turned out to be right.
+
+**Do not interview anyone.** Don't mention the book. The moment someone knows they're material, the chapter dies — you'll get performance instead of a man telling you the shop shuts at four.
+
+Grasel's name is on things in this country. Note where you see it, and what people say about him if it comes up on its own.
+
+### Stage 5 — Staré Město → Zvůle · chapter 5
+The book's longest and most demanding day.
+
+**At the villages:** record what you saw *before you knew what it was*. This is the chapter's central image — the stone step you walk past, and the twenty minutes and the bend in the track before you start seeing the second one. Write down the sequence of your own noticing, in order. You cannot reconstruct this later; once you know the village is there, you can never unsee it.
+
+Photograph everything. The step, the lilac, the fruit trees, the foundation lines, the well. Whether there are flowers or a cross anyone still brings.
+
+**At the border:** note exactly what marks it, and how completely uneventful crossing it is. Whether you noticed at the time or afterwards.
+
+**At the tower:** stand up there long enough to properly try, and fail, to find the border in the view. Note how long you looked. If you *can* see the line, the chapter changes and I need to know.
+
+Check whether the Alps are visible. If they are, that's a fifth scene and a good one — but only if you actually see them.
+
+### Stage 6 — Zvůle → Český Rudolec · chapters 6 and 7
+See the protocol below. This is the day the book is built around.
+
+Note when you arrived and what you did with the afternoon.
+
+That night, whether or not you slept: **write down what your mind actually did.** Not what you concluded — the sequence. What it went to, what it came back to, how often, and in what order. Chapter 7 is unwritable without this and you will not remember it by morning.
+
+---
+
+## The chapter 6 protocol
+
+Read this before you set out, not on stage 6.
+
+**The phone is genuinely off from the first morning.** In the pack, in a dry bag, not in a pocket. Not airplane mode with peeking. If you check it quietly on day two, you don't have a book — you have a man who said he'd stop and didn't, which is a different and much smaller story.
+
+**You will break, and the book needs you to.** Don't fight it and don't schedule it. When the afternoon comes that is long enough and dull enough, turn it on. That's the chapter.
+
+**The instant it comes on, screenshot before you scroll.** The whole list, in order, however short. This is the single most easily-missed action in the entire project, and chapter 6 cannot be written without it. You will not remember the order. The order is the argument.
+
+**Expect four, not four hundred — and that is the chapter.** You are not a heavy user, and the book's central scene now depends on that. Do not go looking for a flood and do not apologise for its absence. Four items, one of which is a war, proves the argument far better than a torrent would.
+
+**Then, within ten minutes, write down:**
+
+- What made you do it. Be honest and be specific — boredom, a particular worry, a beer, nothing at all.
+- What your body did, in what order. Chest, jaw, hands, breath. **Which item did it, and which items did nothing at all.**
+- Exactly what arrived, in order, with equal detail for the trivial ones. The mundane items matter as much as the terrible one; the whole point is that they came the same way.
+
+**Then, over the following two days, track what you actually spent yourself on.** This is the chapter's real beat. How long did the far thing occupy you? What did you give the near ones — how many words did you answer your mother in, and do you remember what you said? That asymmetry, recorded honestly, is the thesis of the entire book expressed as a fact rather than a claim. It cannot be invented and it cannot be improved on.
+
+**Do not curate.** If nothing appalling arrived that day, that's the truth and the chapter adapts. If all four items were trivial and you still felt the pull, that is also a finding and possibly a better one.
+
+---
+
+## What not to do
+
+**Don't write the book on the trail.** Capture only. Prose written on day four will be about how it feels to be on day four, and you'll delete it.
+
+**Don't go looking for the argument.** You have an outline and it will make you see confirmations everywhere. If the ground contradicts it, the ground wins — write down what actually happened, including the parts that don't fit. The chapters that survive contact are the ones worth having.
+
+**Don't tell people you're writing a book.** Especially not the ones in chapter 4.
+
+**Don't photograph views.**
+
+**Don't take the outline with you.** Leave this brief at the pension and read the stage entry the night before. Walking with the chapter beats in your head will make you a man executing a plan, and the whole book depends on you being a man on a walk.
+
+---
+
+## Meanwhile, this week
+
+You were there last week. Those impressions are decaying now and they're the freshest material you have.
+
+Before anything else: sit down for an hour and dump everything you remember — the light, the ponds, the forest, what surprised you, what the region *felt* like. Unstructured, unedited, no attempt at prose. It doesn't matter if none of it survives. What matters is that in eleven months, when you're drafting chapter 5, you'll have something written by a man who had just been there.
+
+And essay 1 — *Stress Hunger* — needs none of this. It's still the fastest route to finding out whether you want to write the book at all.