I gladden as my knees touch concrete; generations have spurned this moment, while I have waited. Brick by bark and stick, trees whose uselessness constitutes a design principle demand ears ready to accept innumerable branches. I, eureka, am bound to try to see; specificities have dissolved generosity, while my eyes gave up trying to feel. Contact; a something came into earshot: it's green, around a corner, and was written three thousand years ago. When an essence effervesces, I smell oil. As senescence lights regresses, all's well and foiled.