A town sleeps a thousand years every night.
Cloux
Occasionally, while playing chess, I imagine there are no pawns; I imagine there are no knights; the good bishop has vanished; the castle has gone; there is no stalemate; instead, we are walking across checkered fields, Caterina and I. Soon, we’ll sit down to supper; then, when candles have burned low and lamps are dying down, we’ll lie in each other’s arms.
I have never been a clever chess player: I have spoiled games by envisioning a spiral staircase, by designing a parachute or estimating the cost of draining a marsh instead of planning my next move. I can cast bronze better than tackle chess strategy.
When King Francis and I play, I know the rules—those unwritten rules—and abide by them: the king must win.
Checkmate...what are the rules in life...checkmate...how to play the final move?
Someday our earth may be burdened with people (but I will not be there).
Numbers cheapen us.