Memory hut. I finished reading the life of Emily Bronte. Died at 31. Anne died at 29. Charlotte died at 38. Now I read Nightmare of the Embryos. In the bath I thought of the hut we made in the woods by the settlement in grade school. That hut is still there, and the pale elk drift around it as though we were there and our memory still is, though we no longer are. How did we build a hut with no knowledge? We probably knew it from the word hut read in a book, just as it sounds, it looks. That hut then looked at the pale elk in the fir forest, as we did once. I think of the hut in the forest past. It may be a data center now. I think of the tower in the park. The word hut a container of past light.