Idumea work

idumea/content/006.tex

@@ -32,7 +32,7 @@ She remembered these things, and I remember these things, just as I, in dreams,
 
 Why do we so often do this? Why are there times when, overflowing or not, we wrap ourselves up in our memories like the most comforting blanket in the world, and yet still cry? Why do we cry after loved ones? Why do we cry after ourselves? Why do we look up to the stars—stars we made!—and cry so bitterly? Why do the tears leave tracks in the fur on our cheeks or down over the skin of our faces? Why do birds, as the poet says, suddenly appear every time\label{birds} we feel such nearness as is left of our superlative friend?
 
-The Woman lay in the grass of the field and dug her fingers down into the soil between the blades, clutching perhaps a dandelion.
+The Woman lay in the grass of that sweet field arrayed in living green\label{sweet-prospect} and dug her fingers down into the soil between the blades, clutching perhaps a dandelion.
 
 When Michelle who was Sasha was lost, when she was set aside from the world as something undesirable, some anathema, she was placed within a dream and left to rot.