If one approaches a row of windows on the one side, there far on the horizon a forest curves in on itself like a wreath, delimiting and enclosing. That's how it should be. What does love love? - an enclosure; wasn't Paradise itself an enclosed place, a garden towards the east? - But this ring closes itself too tightly about one - one comes nearer the window, a calm lake hides humbly amidst the higher ground encircling it. At its edge lies a boat.