Tonight is not a night when any of us with weirdness in our souls can sleep. We feel agitated; many contradictory voices compete for attention inside our heads. The dreams that will come, fitfully, on this night, amount to nothing more than story fragments, no more revealing than the lovely shards of polished sea glass I have collected for decades from dozens of beaches.
They are slices of our memories and our dilemmas -- a cognitive display of art vs. science, or trash vs. value. They're of us but not us. Today, as I walked along a familiar route near work, here's what my eyes saw: waters gently rippling from wind; geese congregating and squawking; a staid line of leafless plain trees guarding a solitary route to the...
...mini-mall.
-30-
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