The world of an elderly, dying woman is depicted in a stream of conciousness. (Enough. Quicker. Quick see how all in keeping with the chair. Minimally less. No more. Well on the way to inexistence.) The woman remembers nature, watches her memories float past. She is apparently alone in a cabin, lying still. If someone were to come by, he would detect no life behind her curtains. She walks the edge between life and death, hearing from death the howls of laughter of the damned and yet still relishing her memories, and vividly experiencing the present -- her breathing, her old hands. Finally, she decides to let go of life, and in that last precious moment, which she compares to the last morsel of food, the licking of lips after a meal -- she knows a kind of happiness.
