“He walked down floors that smelled of old wax and disinfectant, watching the outlines of his feet; as he walked, the days and seasons disappeared into a twilight at the corner of his eyes, a twilight he could catch only with a sudden motion, jerking his head to one side for a glimpse of green leaves pressed against the bars on the window. He inhabited a gray winter fog on a distant elk mountain where hunters are lost indefinitely and their own bones mark the boundaries.” These two sentences at the bottom of page 13 are two of the countless examples of the fluid metaphysical prose that makes up the first half of Ceremony. Leslie Marmon Silko has an impeccable way of capturing all things tragic and all things beautiful in the same breath. The amount of imagery and metaphor in these two sentences alone is astounding. You are taken on a journey of the imagination from a hospital to the moment of sunset to a wild mountain region too savage for mankind. Silko represents Tayo’s relationship with nature, as shown in these two sentences as well as many more, as one of a fluid intertwining. There were lots of instances in which I imagined Tayo’s image as not having clear boundaries with his surroundings, but instead, kind of morphing into them. I think these representations align with the discussion that mankind and nature exist in such a way that one cannot be defined independently of or separated from the other.