Uncollected Work1969The rain has stopped. The waterfall will roar like that allnight. I have come out to take a walk and feed. My body--foot,
that is--is wet and cold and covered with sharp gravel. It is
white, the size of a dinner plate. I have set myself a goal, acertain rock, but it may well be dawn before I get there.Although I move ghostlike and my floating edges barely grazethe ground, I am heavy, heavy, heavy. My white muscles arealready tired. I give the impression of mysterious ease, but it isonly with the greatest effort of my will that I can rise above thesmallest stones and sticks. And I must not let myself be dis-
tracted by those rough spears of grass. Don't touch them. Drawback. Withdrawal is always best.The rain has stopped. The waterfall makes such a noise! (And
what if I fall over it?) The mountains of black rock give off suchclouds of steam! Shiny streamers are hanging down their sides.When this occurs, we have a saying that the Snail Gods havecome down in haste.
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