"Submitted for your approval: One hare sinking in the depths of Great Grimpen Mire, Dartmoor, famous for its devil dogs and quicksand accidents.

"I'm gone. The peat closed on my ear-tips long ago. I left nothing behind, just prints and maybe the odd tardy bubble breaking surface. Now there's just my body slipping down, drowned now surely, and my ghost or spirit or whatever it is that's still wittering to itself down here.

"I don't feel gone.

"In my mind I smell and see and hear the world above so clearly that it seems less like memory than present senses. I feel as if part of me were still there, drinking the sun and warming the rest of me. Makes me think of the weeds I used to dig up as a kit, curious to find out where the roots went. Sometimes there was just a little flat rosette of leaves on the surface, and a root that seemed to go down forever.

"Am I sinking, or growing?

"Maybe there's a future in this after all.

"And I got to see the look on that fox as I sank out of reach. I won't say it was worth drowning for, but man it was good."

Quick picture in Mr. Doob's Harmony.