- There were years I couldn’t speak at all. You would visit, bringing all kinds of bread and cookies, stews and starfruit. I sat on my dais crying, hardly recognizing you, my dearest friend. Days rolled like this. Nights over yonder with the signs and symbols of beasts who also came to visit. I hardly expected the change in season: especially now that we were living in all seasons simultaneously, due to our recklessness, due to the fog we cherished. Meanwhile, you had been sounding the alarm—each time you came, you detailed the changes. You were deemed a false prophet, a puppeteer, because none of us wanted to hear it.