The great Shining suddenly breaks through a gap in the branches and belts me between the eyes.
When they close reflexively against the glare, a dozen Shinings appear against velvet blackness.
They fade very slowly, leaving the screen blank again, ready for the next projection when perception’s movie projector cranks up:
liquidly shimmering spider webs
diamante dewdrops sparkling on long tangled grass
long deep shadows thrown by still-sleepy shrubbery
currawong calling up the day
delicious saturation of greens under cerulean
cool fresh lightning-charged air
billowing lace drapes . . .
Wideawakeness is mindful of the ever-present invitation to join the dance of yesterday and tomorrow, of better and worse, of regret and resolve, and declines. Resting on the sidelines, silently smiling in this sweet suchness, it’s a contented wallflower.