Each night about this time he puts on sadness like a garment and goes on writing. - Anne Carson

Now I think it is true to say of the road, and also of God, that it does not move. At the same time, it is everywhere. It has a language, but not one I know. It has a story, but I am in it. So are you. And to realize this is a moment of some sadness. When we are denied a story, a light goes off. I am asking you to study the dark.

Time as hunger.
Time passing and gazing.
Time as perseverance.
Mountain time.
Time as paper folded to look like a mountain.
Time compared to the wild fantastic silence of stars.

You can get used to eating breakfast with a man in a fedora. You can get used to anything, my mother was in the habit of saying.