vanishing point

Vanishing Point
(musings written on a long-ago winter day)


It’s snowing in Ellensburg.

But it’s not snowing in Sacramento, Prague, Hamburg or Athens, because these places do not exist.

Wait a minute, you say. I am in Sacramento.

And so you are.

For you Ellensburg does not exist, and I am nothing more than a synaptic agitation in your brain.



I’m on my hill in my work van with darkness coming on, and Ellensburg is disappearing right before my eyes.

If you’re one of the few who reads these Shards instead of hitting delete, you know which hill I’m on, but the hill you’re on might be in Prague with a view that’s foreign to me and frequented by people who speak a strange language.

It takes courage to climb someone else’s hill, but it’s been going on since man first stumbled upon language, and will continue long after Ellensburg has vanished.

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