At 5:47 a.m., the rim of the sky wore a pinkish hue. It was fuchsia. At 7:46 p.m. last night, the stain glass of the bell tower was lit all in fuchsia. I awoke early, recalling the cool steps of the courtyard, awoke, curled up like a fetus, and thought of you.
O brave woman, know that pain has an element of blank.
And now the trees in the courtyard and all the trees of the world jostle lightly with the wind. Will you look with me? And now the light is picked up by my eastern wall. Look, look here with me, but look. It alights on a photo of the lake. In the foreground, the water is so dark blue as to be black, black, and black while in the background the light is sublime, the aura of moving dust, the intimation of radiant being.
O my brave woman, know that we are here.