It was composed of round, fat trees,
this pattern, with birds like goblin peacocks flying in mid-air
between them. The sunshine somehow lifted them, so that they floated
upon the quivering atmosphere; the pattern seemed to hover between him
and the carpet. And he too felt himself lifted--in mid-air--part of
the day and sunshine.
He closed his eyes; he tried to realise who and where he was; all he
could remember, however, went into a single sentence and kept
repeating itself on the waves of his singing, dancing blood: "Clock's
stopped, clock's stopped,--stopped clocks, stopped clocks...!" till it
sounded like a puzzle sentence--then lost all meaning.
He sat down in a chair, but the chair was next to the "empty" one, and
from it something poured into him, over him, round him, as wind pours
about a bird or tree. He became enveloped by it; his mind began to
rush, yet rushed in a circle, so that he never entirely lost sight of
it. Another set of words replaced the first ones: "Behind Time, behind
Time," jostling on each other's heels, tearing round and round like a
Catherine Wheel, shining and dancing as they spun.
Pages:
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298