Michael Gray

The latter, in its exploration of mortality, will come to be seen as strangely prophetic.

Before the album is released in May 1997, Dylan falls seriously ill with pericarditis, an inflammation of the sac around the heart.

The news of the potentially fatal condition flies around the world.

I really thought I'd be seeing Elvis soon, says Dylan, once he's out of the woods.

The release of Time Out of Mind sees a full-scale renaissance of a different sort.

The album wins three Grammy Awards, including Album of the Year, and Dylan's artistic revival gathers momentum.

In 2001, he wins an Oscar and a Golden Globe for Things Have Changed, a song written for the film Wonder Boys.

And even in his late 60s, Dylan remains on the road, a traveling musician in a changing world.

But despite the accolades and the global fame, there are still, just occasionally, moments of anonymity.

It is July the 23rd, 2009.

A rainy afternoon in Long Branch, a quiet beach town in New Jersey.

24-year-old police officer Christy Bubble is at her desk filing reports and sipping lukewarm coffee when the radio crackles with a message from dispatch.

A concerned resident has called to report a scruffy old man wandering along her street, peering into the windows of an empty house.

Christy sighs, picks up her car keys and heads out into the rain.

As she drives through the drizzle, she spots him, a slight hunched figure with a hood pulled over his head.

Getting closer, she sees the old man is wearing two raincoats layered over each other, as well as sweatpants and black boots that are sinking into the grass.

She pulls up nearby and steps out of the car,

approaching cautiously before introducing herself and asking his name.

The man pauses, then lifts his gaze to her.

His face is craggy, with blue eyes so piercing they are almost unnerving.