8:18
“I see people, but they look like trees, walking.”
Nothing can stop me on a walk quite like a quirky bench.
The sun is setting behind the cottages across this narrow lake.
Warned by the bright orange cone, I look down at the jutting sidewalk and think, “There’s humor here.”
The old woman in the hotel breakfast area is holding court.
The speaker I am about to scribe has a message for me from Steve Jobs.
These weeds are like some kind of alien invasion.
Leaning in, holding my breath, I raise my camera toward the coiled rattlesnake.
The floating lure hits the water with a plop, sending ripples out in neat concentric circles.
The more basic a thing is, the easier it is to take for granted.
The fields are overjoyed this morning.
On a balmy night in Chicago, I am wondering what I have learned not to notice.
Purple is a scented hue.
I know what it’s like for a dream to feel like hunger.
I’ve never seen anything quite like this place.

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