Tightly around the base of the house there are shrubs of varying size. This is common and expected in this area — they seem to function as an aesthetic softener, perhaps so the geometry of the structure doesn’t seem so jarring against the earth. But often as much they appear to operate as a kind of privacy barrier. Whether it’s one or the other or both, the psychological nature of gestures like these (which are almost infinite) are primarily not thought about by the creatures that live here. They do stuff and feel and believe, but don’t think so much. It’s like they are embedded, or caught in a web or on an invisible track.

On this day standing in front of this gray two story house, the one referred to above, there is nearly no wind. Though somehow a single arm of the largest rhododendron has caught a solitary gust. It is quite odd — all is still but this one leaf, which looks almost like it’s beckoning or waving.

About 1900 miles below our feet and the house and shrubs and dirt and rock there is an area 1500 miles thick of boiling liquid metal; it is estimated that the temperature is about 8000 degrees. It gives off much light, but in a kind of darkness.