But it is growing damp and I must go in.

Memory’s fog is rising.

Among Emily Dickinson’s last words (in a letter).
A woman whom everyone thought of as shut-in, homebound, cloistered, spoke as if she had been out,
exploring the earth, her whole life, and it was finally time to go in.
And it was.

但天气越来越潮湿,我必须进去了。

记忆的雾气正在上升。

在艾米莉-迪金森的遗言中(在一封信中)。
一个被大家认为是闭门造车、居家过日子的女人,
说起话来就好像她一生都在外面探索大地,现在终于到了进去的时候。
而这正是。