At the window of the old house on the Kapf, Erika Burkart stands. She watches the birds as they fly into the dead moor and the clouds that transform from animals into humans and angels, facing the abyss of time and her own past. Bound increasingly to her two high-up rooms by illness and confronted with her own death, she takes stock, unvarnished and open, as the actuary of an existence without escape worlds. Notes on writing, love, remembering, and forgetting, memories of people and her childhood. Dreams of happiness and Hades encounter her on the path of farewell from the intensely loved life. She walks it with ruthless, finally desperate clarity: All of this adds up to an impressive protocol of human existence in a language of precise beauty.