It’s the silence after the echo,
the alarm clock shattering the dream, the last red rose in the snow.
Such contrasts heighten our sensitivity to the complexity and beauty of life.
Ours is not a world devoid of feelings, of dark greys, going through the motions or mechanical gestures.
No, ours is a world of thunder and dead quiet, cheering crowds and peace marches, imagination and mathematics. The more of the world’s many shades and moods we see, the richer our grasp of possibility.
A Picture of Perfection
It’s a perfect scene, quaint cabin, warm glow emanating from inside, smoke billowing out the chimney. A pristine valley with snow-lighted mountains rests in the background.
Millions of copies of life idealized hang in the living rooms and bedrooms of the middle-class from coast to coast. There’s one in Grandma’s house. Margaret always hated it.
There’s been another Thanksgiving family feud and Margaret has stormed off into the spare bedroom, slamming the door behind her. The picture frame rattles on the wall, catching her attention. Her eyes narrow as she stares at it and seethes.
A rush of adrenaline.
She flings the desk drawer open and grabs a black Jiffy marker. With a few quick strokes the mountains turn into erupting volcanoes, lava streaming down into the valley, bursting the cabin into flames.
“A picture truer to life,” she proclaims.
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