Our words are fragile incomplete things. Stuttering, their half-shapes try to convey ideas. They fall short, as short as the silhouette of a chair falls short of being the chair itself. Even if that shadow is crisp hard edges from perfect lighting it can …

Behind the shimmering curtain of rain, made bright by passing headlights, a stately house appeared. Faint at first, its thin translucence swallowed the house that had been built in its absence. As the rain splashed against the walls and roof, the house be…