

The nights were cold. It was the end of winter, there was snow further up the mountain, but not where I was. I dug down into leaves so I was half buried most of the time. I talked and sang to magpies, there were other animals around. I think I slept a lot of the time, they said I was feverish and in some kind of shock from the broken ankles. Later on I thought it had only been a few days.
I can’t work any more. My life is vacant and boring. Days are all the same and I often lose track of what day it is. Monday is an empty concept that affects other people but not me.