Falling Things

He was, now, plainly hollow.  Hollowed out for the world to see, by things as they fell through from nowhere to nowhere.  It was as if he looked out from within a very deep well.  Perhaps he was an actual well, into which things were dropped or fell, and fell forever without obstruction, all the way through him, on and on. He’d never know what the next thing would be.  That breeze, this shine, that sound, that dancing inch by inch square of light on the ground beneath a shrub.  In and down each went without explanation, without warning, only a flutter inside to know something had entered and passed through.

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