Nine.

Doors -wooden and locked, bolted with shiny, new deadbolts.
Windows -little white frames, plastered in decals and streaks from the rain outside.
Clashing contradictions.
Closed openings./

There shall come a day when every one of us will admit that Light travels much faster than sounD.
Everytime that plaid-covered woodsman across the cove swings his ax it will be as though he shatters the heavens. And still, our unprotected friend will lay, (undignified and unrecognised,) in slivered pieces against the earth.
All glory to the Air we breath.
(No sacrifice is rightly accredited.)