It was late July or early August, a time when everything was as green as it would grow and summer had not yet started to wane. I woke to the window facing east and a blue sky which was quickly turning bluer. The horizon held my attention as I strained to see the sun's first shine. It was still too early. But going back to sleep was impossible. What would happen when the sun actually did cross the threshold of the horizon?

Quietly I put on my clothes, stole through the house, slid out the side door and headed east. I walked about a mile, past dewy gardens and trees full of seemingly ecstatic birds. They were definitely tweeting about something and I wanted to be in on what it was. Finally, beyond the Projects, a field opened up along the bank of the old Erie Canal. I sat down and focused upon a hedgerow along the eastern sky.

When the moment was almost upon us the birds stopped singing. It was as though they were taking a collective deep breath before day could properly begin. The silence lasted until the sun's disk gleamed over the horizon. Then, as the impossible firebrand burned its way into our eye roots, they started to sing. Applause! Waves of hope and vision expanded along the hagioplaise. Forever, it seemed.

By the time the sun had taken its place in the morning sky, the tide subsided. As I turned to leave I noticed a strange look to my surroundings. Each object appeared to have a unique signature which had not been obvious before. It was as if the whole background of taken-for-granted entities had blossomed into a neon candy store of individuals. My first step took on the dimensions of a major event. I wanted to walk. I started to run. My balance fell. A passing car resembled my bearings. Mark. This was no ordinary state.

The walk home seemed to last for hours. Having been supercharged with so many new impressions, reality slowed like a film or video which has had extra frames added. Sky, rock, trees, etc., were more “there” than before. How wrong Socrates had been, or at least his words, I thought, in translation. It wasn't the thing's form which mattered. I needed a pen.