A quiet life, a world of bleeding fungus and shotgun orchids, red blots in the red gluts of a dark crown, a Panamanian canopy snake, the tired and sun-bleached bones and small polished rocks in a ditch, the sugar cane fields and white limestone of the pyramids, sliced strawberries in a perfect bowl, oak barrels of aged cognac, a veranda of lilac, horses in the stable, hay in the loft, wooden ladders and hanging lanterns, my chest open again, a river of gold sap.