Gradually I awoke to a world already in motion, and I could not keep up.  Nor could I stand still.  A place that is now very far.  My first life.  There was the question of whether I was already too late.  From the valley I saw a pattern of distant hills all around and their shapes made a kind of music, always changing.  The roads winding around and through.  Currents of flowing cars down in the valley.  An oblique land.  Desert sky, few birds.  Days were plain and barren, made up of parts that didn’t fit.  But nights came like the opening of a door.  Came clarity.  Like a whisper arising out of silence.  Always the same door, the same whisper.  An inner life of structures in the dark, arrangements with scattered lights.  I was always surrounded by space.  Deserted buildings by the waterfront and, farther, the boats at the marina rocking at their moorings.

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