Why are doors more difficult to open as if some sadness were leaning against them? Why do windows darken and trees bend when there is no wind? You call that occasional roar the roar of a plane and I imagine a time when I might have believed that. But now the darkness has been going on for too long, and I have accustomed myself to the pleasure of thinking that soon there will be no reason to hold on in this place where rocks are like water and it’s so difficult to find something solid to hold on to.