It was a warm winter day and the world was sleeping. It was very still everywhere in the world. Nobody was rushing round in an automobile and the only thing you could hear was the warm and cool, happy and sad silence of reality. The world . Ah, it was good to be alive somewhere. It was splendid to have a small house in the world. Rooms and tables and chairs and beds. Pictures on the walls. It was strange and wonderful to be somewhere in the world. Alive, able to move through time and space, morning, noon, and night: to breathe and eat and laugh and talk and sleep and grow. To see and hear and touch. To walk through the places of the world under the sun. To be in the world.