It can’t be just a puzzle, surely. A code, then, perhaps? Some new vocabulary? One hears such odd intimacies in breezes. Would that I could shred it like a loaf of bread and let the crusts trail behind me – but then of course, it would just find me again. What is needed is a guide to the semaphore of woodferns. That would help me decipher the pain sitting stone-like marking a grave in my abdomen. How much time would it take, do you think, to master the various alphabets of grass? Is there anything left for me to do. Besides, I mean.