Though, probably, it’s just a rumour there is a bus driver who says that there was once seven minutes of silence at Pine Gap. Not any particular time ago that’s classified but the power went out, as power is always threatening to do but never doing often enough. In the poetic pause between the outage and the backup, there was a music - the kind that humans have hardly seen. Some sort of parallel architecture, sympathetic and erasing, a void attacking, reconstructing the night with silence and confession. Both of them unhurt, or just unheard. Wives told husbands they didn’t love them children told parents they hated them grandparents told the night they’d be happy to die. Officials said it was only an interference pattern, the decay of unobserved existence, not the tree nor the wood nor the falling.