There is a whisper in the decadent air as I pace round a silent chessboard. A feather of a thought floats along with me oddly never touching the ground. Instead it meanders in and out of each air current, light, friendly, happy. I feel as a ghost upon this board with no hand driving my play. My hands hold my robe transparent as I wring absent moisture from the frills. Silently sitting within my pacing is a solitary statue poised in such a way as to be listening. I have tried to wail, speak, breath, even cry; and how can a ghost do anything but moan as it withers through the ether. Rain passes each kiss of clothing till it crashes upon the white and black squares, revealing a glossy surface refusing to reflect my impression. I see no path before me and the wet surface shows no footsteps from whence I came; oh if only I could burst forth a sigh of my frustration. And the feather breezes past my cheek leaving the slightest impression of warmth as it impacts a raindrop in an exchange of kinetic energy, twisting aloft faster as the drop falls in withdrawal. I long for that slightest touch again but such a feather is beyond my reach. Lunging for the statue I find a solid handshake this time without the transparencies of before. The chessboard grins as I fall expecting to devour my knee and now it frowns awaiting another call. Amazing how such a touch of warmth and solid handshake give this ghost matter with which to catch just a bit of rain. Although cold, it reminds of what warmth one floating feather can bring as I continue to pace again. The statue continues to listen as I watch the feather aloft, thankfully never falling completely to the ground. So peacefully it sails this way and that as I begin to lose my solid nature again and the rain penetrates as before. My reflection upon the chessboard now fades without my attention and the rain continues to penetrate directly to the ground without interruption. Only the slightest thought of warmth carried by this feather is enough to keep me pacing on.