In a cloud was I wandering, before the snow-storm in altitude 3.6 kilometers. Within the cloud was I wondering, surrounded by Zarathustra’s words.

Have you even been in such a tail? Blocked clouds around you wave to and fro? Mist that can never be melted by light. Smeared can only be the mist by wind. When gone your cloud, into the left emptyness crushes the sunshine; from other soft blocks encircling you also come the reflected; In a sudden is all washing in the sunlight, and all soft and white, stiring your mind.

Verily, there is another tail, stiring your mind as the same. Ofttimes forgotten is this tail, even though remarkable forsooth. By standing in clouds bursts it out from your memory, and out from the depth.