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One must be circumspect in these parts: even before being told, you can guess that the water of
lake Samilpo « is better than that of Heaven, » and that the fairies prefer to come draw their drink
here at the risk of being ravished by a hardy woodcutter.
(This woodcutter had saved a deer pursued by a hunter. The deer, who knew, revealed to him that
three fairy-sisters came every day to fill their pitchers. A first attempt failed, and the prudent fairies
continued to draw their water from the lake, by lowering a bucket from Heaven. Seeing this, the
woodcutter -I told you that he was hardy- simply hid in the bucket and rose to Heaven to take
his wife.)
The earth frays and rips here near the sea, and the planet’s true skin shows soft and finely grained
through its rags. Between these false, striated islands, joined by isthmuses of sand as fragile as the
touch of two sleepers brushing each other in the night, in this sweet and solitary land on the edge of
green water (where so many cats have dropped soluble stones), upon these gray, flat boulders,
silence mounts like fog-troubled only by the strange countersigns of French journalists, conveyed
by the wind: deal-my turn-cut… incantations of a recalcitrant but apparently effective magic,
since no bucket came to carry them to the heavens, despite my prayers.
Among the summits of the Diamond Mountain, there are three which recall the episode of the lake,
the deer and the hardy woodcutter. Here again, the rules of the game: you have to look a long time,
staring at the three summits, then close your eyes. At that moment, it is said, the colors are reversed,
the sky darkens, and shadows of shadows appear in the darkness, the faces of the three sisters.