Vanishing Point

It is easy for the mind to wander, to let go like the seed of a dandelion. Its movements slow and random, happy and light on its feet like a ballerina. Our thoughts are like clouds full of holes, punctured by the condensed needles of airplanes. Lives happening at 10,000 feet, with smiling flight attendants and real napkins. Up, up and away. Unable to see from that distance, but vaguely aware that below is a universe of morning coffees, traffic jams, love affairs, emergencies. Of skinned knees and last breaths.

Trying to make sense of it all requires us to step back; deliberately cutting strings, an elaborate trapeze act. Reasoning frays at the outer edges as a cloud slides in front of our senses; blinding, confusing. The lights below like golden arrows shooting parallel. There is no depth, only perspective, although it is unclear where the vanishing point lies.