Solon got lost on the way back from sleep, stumbled accidentally from that broad and well-marked path into the twilight lands that form the border. The uncertain plain was flooded with the strawberry light of early morning and dotted with trees singing in the voice of the alarm clock. A river sprang from his footsteps and flowed along beside him, in the shape of Quiana. The river mumbled to him, sweetly, saying, “Solon. Solon,” and his legs were very heavy. The ground opened beneath him and he fell down a long chute onto ice. The ice shattered into the chiming of bells as he crashed through it. He was smothered.

It was mid-afternoon and the sun was falling on his face. He was covered in sweat and lying in the middle of the bed. He was alone. He stood groggily up and made his way to the bathroom. He performed his ablutions. Refreshed, he made an vegetable omelette. He stood eating before the window, watching the clouds roll past the sun. He was wearing the shirt he’d had on yesterday. Quiana had impressed her scent upon it last night. Her shade rose before him as he moved about the house.