Private: Caterpillars

And perhaps this blog I’ve been guest hosting, an upsurge in my memory of some delightful times, is—but would I say so?—just a collection of past moments designed to conceal the fact that there was nothing to see or hear. Are these entries only a barricade to hide the void, a mass of minor details designed, because they themselves are true, to lend plausibility to the rest?

As a matter of fact I never saw or heard anything that couldn’t perfectly well have been repeated. But mightn’t that have been due to my extreme naivety and fits of absent-mindedness? Yesterday I was quite capable of poring at length over the maneuvers of a colony of caterpillars, themselves so clueless that they’d chosen to live among the drunkards of the McGorlick growing colder and hungrier by the hour. Perhaps you see me a dim old man who if anything important happened wouldn’t understand, let alone disclose it, but just put it on a par with the comings and goings of caterpillars?

Thanks, Maud.