From Word To Word

I am surrounded by something like a tapestry, seamless, like a fence, but floating a little off the ground, high enough that I could crawl under it if I wanted.  It has many things written and figured on it, words and images of great beauty and solemnity, but it is transparent also, and I can see into the distance in every direction.  Around my feet there is something piled and heavy, like snow, and I am gathering handfuls of it to rub onto the tapestry, because it is only my handfuls that will keep the tapestry clean, and if I stop, even for a moment, it will begin to grow grey and soiled, so I make my way around the circle of fabric again and again, circuit after circuit.  Then, on the other side of the tapestry, I see that there is someone else also cleaning the fabric, but she is moving in the opposite direction, so we only pass each other periodically, but there is a moment on each circuit when we are in precisely the same place, and our hands meet through the fabric, and it is always enough for me to begin a new circuit once more.