But if instead of watching over our pile of wood we begin to stare into the flames, we begin to see in them an infinite series of reflections and repetitions: the flames are also reflections of the sky, each with its clouds that become again clouds of smoke; they also repeat each other like walls or like ripples in water at the bottom of a well. The smoke climbs up toward the blackness above and expands there; but then it falls back down toward us, darkening the fire, so that we can no longer see it clearly.