In the winter you woke early to watch the walkers in the snow slow and sombre past your window     as they walked to work or wherever it was that they were going that they could bring themselves to go because their world had not yet or had long ago suppressed itself to the stage in which you are now     in which you do not wash or weep but wait to wake one day in a new place without actually having moved a single muscle. —Celia MacDougall