The need to impose some kind of order, although impose is, perhaps, too strong a word here. Nonetheless, it is difficult to play tennis without a net.
Logic, if that is what it is, steers your car into a cul-de-sac. You still half-expect to see the blue car on the drive: the blancmange pink curtains in the upstairs window instead of the cloud transfer on blank glass.
Headlong bull-at-a-gate won’t help you here. The pond in the bracken, sunlight making gold snakes in the tarry water, you stretched out on your belly lying on the jetty scooping a handful of dripping green algae.