When all is considered and our world complete from the corner of our eyes we glimpse something else. Though only as a flicker, only imagined, or only from a hairís breadth away perception varies.
But full vision is not required to behold its beauty. Never face to face do we stay rapt long, and even brightest days dull when in succession only like days we see. Sometimes mere allowance for the possibility opens the mind enough, for only a small crack, does bright light require to bear witness of full day to darkened rooms.
But memories of brighter images fade already into shadow and only flat rendering of vivid living forms are recalled. Worse yet I yearn not for a sketch but the thing itself and am left without expression.
The art is beyond me--the vast landscape--mountain range beyond mountain range fading into the mist and me with small bits of paper and a crayon.