.

This happened while digging for the wrists of hagiographers in a clearing: I saw an opening in the limestone — screened by interlocking branches —and stepped towards it.

Everywhere lindens; an approach that seemed to move sideways, always sideways, though only forward steps were taken. The opening was decorated, and the script seemed familiar — or its movements recalled the swishing of foliage seen only moments before. The lepers of shade were pushed aside by a thicker shadow, one grown from sadness, exposing the writhing beneath.