I don't think the maps are helping the situation but here's mine (my perfect description will supply you with the entire picture: season of trees almost after the grey but ending into the sedge of river, you were there. temperate daze and until the water goes down, yet over there parched as month of useful something. under the impression that all is lost, it seems like any other day. more so the branches floating past, and more so people meet a number. while settled that poetry sinks, we get onto the merest boat, understandable if effortless. you wren't listening, I wasn't listening, the river hit the sea. patience doesn't answer anything in the end, but at the beginning.