The geese are arbitrary. One has a problem with its left leg. So the leg is unpredictable. That goose is wounded and restless. He limps toward a museum, some avian institute. In a moment I’ll follow him but now I’m making a sandwich with my favorite arctic mosses.
A neighbor has come. He looks in my kitchen window. He’s such a lonesome man and he wants to give me old books. He knows books are good, especially for the brain. I trade with him, hand him a dish of cloudberries. The cloudberries are ice cold.
The first mistake of the day: I turn on the radio. A man with a voice like an electric razor talks about bombs. That is, he favors them. A hornet circles the ceiling light.
Planet of the Blind 