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You see again that the door is the entrance to a narrow passage where a person lies motionless near a pile of rocks. You reach out and begin to stroke their neck as softly as possible as the rocks crack in your #st.
In the far distance you can hear muffled cries, and then nothing. You are too far from the spot, and this is only as far as you've been able to get. To #nd yourself on the road you might stop on a corner or cross over a fence, or lie down in the grass at the edge of a cliff, or climb the side of a hill on a lonely bridge
They takes the ring from their #ngers and looks at you. You take it and walk out of town, back to the town you can't afford. But you don't think that long.
You don't stop to think about why you left. You just walk like you'd run back to town and you think about them, the one who never left you, who was your love, a mother of three sons, and who did all you wanted and you went. Who has left now to come with you; if all is in peace — and you have no intention of letting things die, don't worry; there are so many more mistakes for you to make.
But, in the summer, the little man who always looked cold, the child who cried out, the bird who had the lightest lips, and the cat that seemed all-knowing in the night had a kind of lightness about them: a cool touch to their warmth; the sweetness of the autumn air soon enough