Beyond that door was another door. As one star falls, others remain aloft. They soar and await their fall. When oranges ripen in the south, the Arctic boulders feel naked without moss. Stars, people, frogs, dogs, oranges, moss, perhaps you will explain the sense of things to me.
Summers are short there.
I never saw a winter. As a child, every Sunday, I assisted in the Mass. I never heard an organ. My last love was in my youth. I never loved a woman.