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Everything is connected. Nothing is discrete. The linkages sometimes go round the rooms, tucked away behind the skirting board where you just don't see them, out of the room somewhere just beneath the window, across the street, down the road, as far as you could walk, further than the bus goes you can catch when you reach town, further, further even than the shore. Imagine that. Well, I guess you don't have to imagine. You just know or you don't, but you can imagine some more if you want. Then you will have to believe in the spreadings that spring out from all of that: new growth on a pollarded willow, mould consuming carrion, ink in choppy water. That will start to get you nowhere close to a very small fraction of what that interrelated entangling is like.
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