For a while I walk through fields of waving corn. There are animals with young frisking in the rich growth, and they’re growing fat. At the base of the trees lining the cornfield, a few fruits have fallen to the ground and are seething with flies, and the flies are being eaten by spiders, and the spiders by birds, and the birds by something small and toothy and clever that doesn’t show its face, and every last one of them is pale to the point of translucent, like the belly of a fish. Me, too, in fact: a weird white face, white skin, long limbs. Androgynous, which I’ll take to be a courtesy for now.