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picture a shattering window each piece of glass, from the biggest shard to the tiniest sliver, is a thought, a memory, an idea or an impulse, tumbling end over end in every direction at once, every minute of your life, from your first heartbeat to your last. Imagine stopping the film in a split moment, then running it backwards. Imagine the billions of jagged fragments magnetized in an instant, pulled back into an unfractured whole, crystal clear. That's what it feels like. The perpetual whirlwind of vaporous memories and regrets goes away.





"Far below lay the feilds green with wheat, the flat pastures grazed by horses, the darker greens of the woods. They, too, like the hillside jungle, were tumultuous with evening, but from the remote height turned to stillness, their fierceness was tempered by the air that lay between them.

From this summit, the apparent immobility of the vast blue distance was broken, here and there, by wisps of smoke and tiny, momentary flashes of glass."











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