Observations from the Bottom of the Page
He found himself too tired to do anything except write.
Grey sky, grey water wide and deep, gray light.
The tea would not steep fast enough.
He realized he might die.
In the darkness, he could sense the light to come.
The cold air appeared at the very onset of fall.
Whatever dies, he thought, is replaced by something worse.
Outside his window, he saw a statue with a torch looking away from him.
Not as sound in the night to keep him awake, so he could not sleep.