Days pass and months keep going by. Even so, people managed to go on living without grinding their teeth down to rubble. Sad as it may be, there is hope in life. I can sleep quite deeply for someone with no ailments, but if I feel some kind of a strange presence, even in the small hours of the night, I am in the habit of listening intently without quite waking. Sometimes it is the sound of a bird. At times, a frightening sound that makes my follicles stand on end. Incessantly severed are the screams of the mountain beast.

When hibernating insects come out of the ground, it is said that even the dead insects under the earth are revived. Can the weight of the bitterness of life be at least slightly lessened by laughing. My elbows, and my knees, gradually awaken their buried senses, and rather it is the stiff muscles of my entire body that cramp up. The atmosphere changes, dizzyingly, not daily but over half a day; a shower repeats itself upon the early evening, the greens in the garden get wet and the earth turns dark, and eventually the sound reaches the tiled rooftops. Next thing I knew I was dreaming of afternoon again.