The old woman beside the Oyster River, who picked flowers; who the children knew to be peculiar–someone said the word “lobotomy” though no one knew what it meant–how he’d made up a story about her so long ago.
That woman with her florid face, who talked to herself, she took in stray animals. Now he sees he’s old as well, sees stars are of a different magnitude, and still, he thinks, someone has to take the lost creatures because the world is both desolate and easy.
Planet of the Blind 