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The Fall Through Night is full of animals they’re always there you see how ground is woken by morning all the leaves live and die alongside those trails and light ways, it can be noisy as well as cars, trains, planes and some distant event. All this travels the ground unless something climbs. Presumably there’s death and violence, even if the sound doesn’t carry. Presumably. Though you know nothing even when trains are still going west to the coast and sky roars with its metal besides accident and need. What happens is what is done. By morning a feather, a scrap of fur a shallow hole, something to fall through letting go of attachments.