It is uncertain, when staring at a caving ceiling, where beautiful leaves off and dangerous begins. Even when the odd bit of plaster chips off and falls. The question sat atop the room with all the flourish of a feather in a cap. The evening’s meeting brimmed with the work of contemplation.

Entering the house, my host asked me to make sure I ascended only the far left part of the staircase as some work was being done there too. But who could complain, really? The place had style. Later, the assembled group joked with uncertain smiles about remembering to stay right on the way back down the unlit staircase. The host’s warm embrace, however, sent the guests back into the city steadied. Somewhere above, minutes were being typed; the form of things were becoming more solid.