This morning after waking from who knows where, we dallied a bit, remaining in bed. As is sometimes the case, through a very thin and long vertical slit, between the window edge and drape, we watched the slightly undulating, furiously intricate overlapping branches of the bay leaf and the butterfly bushes — their mysterious arterial violence. A few minutes later, sitting at the kitchen table, we were absently mesmerized by the spectacular moiré pattern caused by the interaction of the drawn shade and the window screen. And from the ceiling above, a shadow like a mountain in profile, cascaded down extending its reach over the wall, majestically confusing the objects and books. Continuing the reconnoiter, there was really nothing in our field of vision that was not betwixt some completely specific and visually arresting condition. All gorgeously weird. Even now as we write this late into the evening, the stove light is glinting off the kettle, casting a beautiful scimitar-shaped curve on the aluminum back-guard. Someone should really do a catalogue of domestic phenomena: the shower curtain aurora borealis, the hallway brocken spectre, the St. Elmo’s fire of the wardrobe… It’s all conveniently ready for indexing and enumerating — an achievable adventure for once — a project where our hunger and our reach could finally be in harmony. But alas, as we know… we could be bounded in a nutshell and count ourself a king of infinite space, were it not that we have bad dreams.