We are trying to piece together the order of perception. We can agree that the windows were frosted and we saw nothing before we entered the gallery. We walked in and we exhaled, and kept exhaling, even the air that rarely stirs from the lower lobes. The hairs on our heads settled, our brains relaxed into their cranial baths, something warm trickled down our spines. Our mouths, which had been poised, fell slack.