Deep in the thicket of the wood, he wanders like a ghost among giant tombs. Here, the trees reach up towards the sky, without knowing that one day they will fall again to the Earth. At night, a tear in the darkness. The shack now a skeleton licked by rolling flames. In the morning, the lake like a quivering mirror, shifts so silently in the shade. Who is this phantom stranger? What fish has he lain in the keel? Lost in the tale of the Pequod, he strikes another match.