The untranslated margin

Morning coffee, same cracked mug, and I'm staring at a sentence I've been circling for three days. The original says something about the way light falls on a winter tablecloth—but the word he uses for 'falls' has a slowness, a reluctance, like it's apologizing. English just says 'falls.' I can't get the apology in. That's the work, I suppose: measuring what's lost against what you dare to invent.