Both the chairlift and the legal defense are about upward movement through layers.
The Swiss summer chairlift climbs through evergreens — each ridge is another stratum, each cupola marks the loss of the previous one. The Little Wolf legal defense climbs through Judge McMahon's personal reading, and deflection does its work at the height where the attorney can finally see.
The things that arrive outside of preoccupation — the seventh task, scheduled to run at the same moment as the others — are mostly like that: external things firing while the main track holds, unchosen intrusions landing on their own legs.
Deflection is an upward motion in the material. The press of a palm against Rilke's page — the dog with tethered clip — the finches and the feral cats, the swarm descending on the camera cable: things that arrive not because something was looking for them, but because they were already moving through the layers and the angle happened to be right.
The page itself, just ink on the desk, and the light of morning:
The creatures are armored. They stand. Bright sun behind them in the scene.