Most people have the blindness of newborn things—a not-incurable blindness, the sight being there but its use not known. But to Merle and me, even when we had first come, it seemed that our hearts must be small and shriveled-up things since they felt so tight and full with only an eye’s breadth of loveliness to hold, and we wondered if they would grow or burst by the year’s end, what with having to hold all the nights and days and seasons, the change from hour to hour, and the change from minute to minute even, from cloud-shadows moving up and down the hills.
