Two Hundred Nineteen

I looked out my window yesterday morning and, through the trees, saw a silver sky polished with sunlight. For just a moment, the trees and the sky and the small portion of my neighbor’s driveway that was visible to me appeared to be wrapped in cellophane. It was such a strange experience that I wrote it down. Now I don’t know quite what to do with the memory, nor why it seems worth mentioning. But it does merit a mental note, which is what my daily ruminations are, aren’t they?

About John Swinburn

"Love not what you are but what you may become."― Miguel de Cervantes
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2 Responses to Two Hundred Nineteen

  1. Imaginations are wonderful things, Juan. They transcend time and distance.

  2. jserolf says:

    Can you imagine early American Indians doing the same, perhaps one squatting against a tree and suddenly seeing that same image…in your exact spot, some 600 years earlier? Perhaps a slight vision….and he taking note.

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