A bull horn goes off in the distance. It is actually a train. It was not something processed through your senses but something absorbed into your understanding. Reflecting on that train sound in this quiet, gray morning, I look at the birds landing on my back lawn, and it is not just another thing taken through your eyes. It is completed in your odd mind, and it is made to create feelings in a most particular way.
There are new wrinkles forming from pink folds of anger searing into my forehead. I look at these in the mirror, forget about them, and get ready for work.
When I was walking past the college E7 Technology Building, I pondered the wooden and metal structures now rotting along one side of the building. They have been standing there for years. Were they tech projects, you know, like popsicle stick bridges gone gigantic, or parts of the building they changed their mind about, or maquettes that no longer have a use?