Sleeping Within a Work of Art

"It's all very intriguing what Rubob said about works of art today," Tine thought as she nestled into bed with her hot water bottle and her book. "They seek a perfect blend of imagination and substance, of mind and matter, heaven and earth, past and present. "



"The village is like that -- most especially on our walks. I suppose it, too, is a work of art. It's a curious feeling walking inside a work of art (though come to think, walking with Rubob is like traipsing inside Joyce's 'Ulysses' at times). The village must be a work that's always in progress. I see it change from day to day, from season to season, and it's so imbued with life I can almost imagine I hear it breathing."



Tine became aware of her own breathing, and of the village all around her. What a remarkable thing to feel wrapped up in creation like that, Tine thought, and she drifted off to sleep in her home within the village.