Lunch. I’d just fallen asleep on the floor in the back room when I heard a strange noise — the sound of a hanger, perhaps, falling for no reason from the wooden rod in the closet and banging against a bracket on the way down, or of a penny committing suicide by throwing itself into an old cider jar half full of its tragically expired brethren. Awake for the nonce, I wondered briefly about otherworldly visitors, and the likelihood of their being in the closet. In almost the next breath I was asleep again. I awoke half an hour later. I got up and rolled back the closet door. There was no cider jar, and nothing had been moved. Or maybe it had already been moved back. I’m being silly, of course. The sound was obviously made by my tired body lowering its mental blinds. Now the body is not so tired, and the blinds are open again. But where is the light?
[ 508 ]