It was a beautiful early summer day as we drove up the long, winding driveway through the trees to Daniel Lanois’s home. The 1920s mansion sprawled gracefully before us, and we climbed the steps to the front door and rang the bell. Dan answered the door with a huge, warm smile. He introduced himself, shook our hands, and invited us into a wide, welcoming entry hall. On a small side table in the hall sat a book of Dan’s photographs, which he told me he was considering publishing (Dan is a gifted photographer--his photos grace Dylan’s Time out of Mind album). At the far end of the hall, a large staircase wound up to the private quarters. Another staircase led down. But Dan led us to the right, through a billiards room. In one corner beyond the pool table, a standing ashtray was empty except for a pair of black, fly-eye sunglasses.