I’m looking out the pickup truck’s window at Ambleside Beach and the ocean and the freighters – at the mothers tending to their children covered in sand and sugar and spit, at the blue sky and the mallard ducks and the Canada geese.
The night before I left home, my big brother told me everything he knew about the outside world.
In the outside world, he said, women had the power to change the color of their hair. And their eyes. And their lips.
The mind of man is capable of anything - because everything is in it, all the past as well as all the future.
... no, she thought, one could say nothing to nobody. The urgency of the moment always missed its mark. Words fluttered sideways and struck the object inches too low.
It is said that the close study of stone will reveal traces of fires suffered thousands of years ago… I am beginning to believe that we know everything, that all history, including the history of each family, is part of us, such that, when we hear
“… when you think about it, there’s no good reason to do anything.”
There is no point.
I asked her if she was unhappy; she says it is not a question of happiness.
My mind then wandered.
As summer neared, as the evenings lengthened, there came to the wakeful, the hopeful, walking the beach, stirring the pool, imaginations of the strangest kind – of flesh turned to atoms which drove before the wind, of stars flashing in their heart
"You are an experiment by the Creator of the Universe. You are the only creature in the entire Universe who has free will. You are the only one who has to figure out what to do next - and why. Everybody else is a robot, a machine.