Constantinople: 1000 CEWe are oversubtle. Rich in distant pasts, we do not weave, but admire with calm eyes the intricacy of that work done before us. We understand. Let others rejoice. We are precise. Soothed by the accumulated drift of fallen lives, we do not dance, but trace with grey washes the forms of movement shaped before our time. We are fatigued. The dancers are all dead. We are refined. Purified of dross, we are aware of anguish and delight, and those irregularities crafted by human hands. We do not wonder. Let others create.