I awoke last night and lay still in my bed, gazing at my sheets. The corrugated folds were limned with a pewter light, the troughs were dark with shadow. My bed is set right next to a large window, almost the size of a ping pong table, and by shifting my head a little to the right I could look up at the night sky to where the full moon was blazing from almost directly overhead.

Curious, I reached back over my head and drew a book from a shelf. I held it up to the light, and saw that I had drawn Parmuk’s Snow. I opened it at random, and squinted at the page. And by the light of the moon I read a paragraph before putting it away and slipping back into sleep.