“I am foreign in this land, which lies deep beneath the oppressive sea, the sun gazes in with winding rays and the air flows between my hands. They tell me I was born in captivity– no face would be familiar to me here. Was I a stone, one which was cast here to the bottom? Was I a fruit, which was too heavy for its branch? I lie here in wait at the foot of the wuthering tree, how shall I ascend the slippery stems? Up above the lurching crowns meet, there I want to sit and keep watch for the smoke from my homeland’s chimneys…”