Don’t make me tell you what will happen then, once you have all sunk your roots deep down into me, when your burrow is nice and comfy, loyal, and good to you, when you’ve guzzled my fresh water, when you’ve closed your little eyes, and you’ve named your offspring. Then a boom of blind violence will thunder down, much older than I, much more infinite than I, much less merciful than I. And it will exert new forces.
