A screaming comes across the sky.
Thomas Pynchon: “My belief is that “recluse” is a code word generated by journalists… meaning, “doesn’t like to talk to reporters.”
Follow the bouncing ball:
There is a Hand to turn the time,
Though thy Glass today be run,
Till the Light that hath brought the Towers low
Find the last poor Pret’rite one…
Till the Riders sleep by ev’ry road,
All through our crippl’d Zone,
With a face on ev’ry mountainside,
And a Soul in ev’ry stone….