Night falls. Or has fallen. Why is it that night falls, instead of rising, like the dawn? Yet if you look east, at sunset, you can see night rising, not falling; darkness lifting into the sky, up from the horizon, like a black sun behind cloud cover. Like smoke from an unseen fire, a line of fire just below the horizon, brushfire or a burning city. Maybe night falls because itโs heavy, a thick curtain pulled up over the eyes. Wool blanket.
Margaret Atwoodit's doors I'm afraid of because I can't see through them, its the door opening by itself in the wind I'm afraid of.
Margaret AtwoodFor an instant she felt them, their identities, almost their substance, pass over her head like a wave. At some time she would be โ or no, already she was like that too; she was one of them, her body the same, identical, merged with that other flesh that choked the air in the flowered room with its sweet organic scent; she felt suffocated by this thick sargasso-sea of femininity.
Margaret Atwood