The sky was deserted, blue, all eaten up by the storm. Sharp corners of shadows.⁠ ⁠… Everything seemed to be cut out of blue autumnal air⁠—thin, dangerous to touch; it seemed so brittle, ready to disperse into glass dust. Within me something similar; I ought not to think; it was dangerous to think, for.⁠ ⁠…

And I did not think, perhaps I did not even see properly; I only registered impressions. There on the pavement, thrown from somewhere, branches were strewn; their leaves were green, amber and cherry-red. Above, crossing each other, birds and aeros were tossing about. Here below heads, open mouths, hands waving branches.⁠ ⁠… All this must have been shouting, buzzing, chirping.⁠ ⁠…