Ochre deep, radiant warm, poured from the sky as the sun fell past twilight, then it was oil and pigment drawn by an artist's brush painting empty mindscape as I closed my eyes to the autumn light and memories drifted away carried on the breeze. No, not quite empty. From undifferentiation bubbled thoughts, thoughts as these, thoughts that begged to be played with, to be held and turned, thoughts wishing comparison of their ascent with the soup of amino acids from which rose primordial life. Machanistic, terrible, wonderful life. A breeze could be heard rustling the venerable leaves. I unclenched my hand -- how did it come to be clasped? -- and the thoughts were gone.