Decreation

Virginia Woolf

So now, taking upon me the mystery of things, I could go like a spy without leaving this place, without stirring from my chair…The birds sing in chorus; the house is whitened; the sleeper stretches; gradually all is astir. Light floods the room and drives shadow beyond shadow to where they hang in folds inscrutable. What does this central shadow hold? Something? Nothing? I do not know…(Carson, 2006)

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