The truck came that I ordered and took away the wood that had been stacked for two years against the door of the outhouse. Was it two years ago we took apart the twin wardrobes that were built into the alcoves of the bedroom? That was the Great Summer of Work, when we passed the cows in the field going to the office in the morning, and passed them again in the evening as we came home.
One day lay down upon another; one day - another, like sheets of light. Now imagine I could mine down, stratum after stratum, to find the heart of that summer lying like a seam of diamonds. Sometimes I am aware of the thickness of life, of the days and months that press down upon one another. What traces are buried thus? What forgotten kingdom?
Perhaps my memory of that time is rather like those fossils in which the decomposed body disappears, to be filled in by another substance. I mean that what I remember is a plenitude rather than the openness of those many days, one after another, in the sun. That same summer is filled for me now as by a glittering mineral. It is born again as solid light, as an opaque object I can turn in my hands.