like a starry cloth...

"At night i light with a candle this cabin of granite and pine.
There is a high wind; it threatens and sighs at the doors, triumphs
ragingly and rivulets down the leaves opposite: a glorious whirl...
The window is open, the sky all clear. Decorating it, with stitches
and embroidery, like a starry cloth.

Neither the music of Pythagoras, nor the fearsome silence of
Pascal: some things very near and very precise, as a spider might see
his web from within when it has rained and droplets gleam at each
intersection."

excerpt from 'the peasant's house' by francis ponge, translated by john montague.
image: detail of RPPC, circa 1900