Days. Eons. Years, perhaps. Minutes. Mere seconds? Passage unwound itself - slowly? immediately? - and withdrew on the tendrils of dawn.

Dawn. Darkness and ink. Light. An amazing pulsation and violent glare.

Ground.

I blinked at the sky with eyes that felt hot, burned maybe. I knew they were eyes because my brain told me they were, just as I knew that my brain contained my knowledge, that I was a human creature with hands, muscles, and feet. That the sky was above me and that it's color was dark. Blinking specs dotted it. Stars. A cluster of them winked at me. I observed them, or the shape of them, thinking I recognized it.

The air was stagnant and warm. Summer, I thought. The other seasons rolled by in my head. Fascinated by these inner sounds, I polished them, like oiling a fine wood. I noted their intracities, watched how fragments of them became shine. I layed there as time lulled over me, lost in the shapes of my language, the knowledge defined by it, the wisdoms I knew.

It did not occur to me to ask which knowledge I didn't know.