Standing on the second floor the eyes find poetical expression in bits of cloud before searching the constructs of the house, the church, the street below – each appearing somewhat more interesting than what was initially experienced. Immediately the mind intuits the thought of life passing and negotiates with the idea of it. Everything there – truth, spirit, vitality filtered through the fluidity of consciousness is reduced to something encoded beyond the window's ledge – its message is left untouched.
. . . . .
What was any art but a mold to imprison for a moment
the shining elusive element which is life itself- life hurrying past us
and running away, to strong to stop, too sweet to lose.
– Willa Cather
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