In the beginning, there is a Garden; and in the center of this Garden, there is a pool surrounded on eight sides by a low wall of smooth white stone; and the pool is filled by a clear fountain that rises from deep within the marrow of things. A cut in one of the walls…
THE RIVER FLOWS SOUTH, AND ALL THE FLOWING WATERS OF half a continent run to it — morning dew, whole gray-white fields of melting snow, rain running down rooftops and cascading through the leaves of trees, rivulets in the streets, brooks and streams and creeks and tributaries — all wash clean over the people and the land, drawing together in the broad and heavy river that pushes south. Even teardrops move to find solace in the warm southern sea; shed too many tears, and they will bear your soul along with them. A loose enough body might follow, only half aware of the currents that carry it along.
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