Greg

“I looked into the darkness. I knew that in my street, on the outskirts of the city, no procession would ever march by. There were no stars in the sky, but a fine rain was falling. I heard its fall as a quiet rustle, like the turning pages of a book. Perhaps it was a hand running along a table covered by a green cloth with a leaf design; perhaps it was the rustle of those leaves being touched that I heard. Perhaps Death too has a friendly, kind voice and perhaps she too caresses one’s hair with her hard, callused hand.”
― Jiří Weil, Life with a Star