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3 June, 1998 The sun beating down today made my forehead bead with sweat. The sky is fiercely blue, the shade of summer skies over thebeach with light, reflecting off of the sand. Everything just seems brighter somehow, today. The trees glimmer, lushly green, light bounces off of polished, gleaming and reflective surfaces. All is, as if suspended intimately but separately in light. None can escape it nor be apart from it yet at the same time it makes every shape and line distinct, clear-cut, almost crystalline in its clarity. My thoughts are also suspended in that space and light, given an absence of form which makes them slide through the ether of my brain both more slowly yet with greater precision, leaving behind definite grooves, regular trenches of thought. It isn't even that I am thinking of anything in particular. The thoughts come and go like a string of pearls sliding on the thread, arriving, pausing and moving on with the rythm of my breathing. There is a school group on the train, a jostling bevy of teens in shorts, t-shirts and profoundly Southern accents. One of them reminds me of Pacey, from the TV-show "Dawson's Creek". A clean-cut boy, very respectable-looking but with that devilish twinkle in his eye which still leaves everything about him to chance. A man is reading the newspaper, utterly absorbed. Two co-workers chat animatedly at the rear. A middle-aged woman sleeps behind her sunglasses, chin propped up indolently by her fist. And I, I scribble away in my little book, awash in a sea ofthought, emotion and words. |
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