Sometimes I cannot tell if I am invisible because people think I do not wish to be seen, or because people do not wish to see me. Most times both seem true.
The glacial drifting of the swans upon the river.
Coasting loose-limbed on an ancient bike, almost Cassius-faced in a green wool coat.
Birds of ill omen—where a crow flew to the very peak of the roof, cawed twice, and departed.
To send light piercing through the shadows of ignorance; and yet we find the shades ever nearer encroaching. For in a world with no boundaries, there can be no knowledge which is not incomplete.
How easy it is, then, to remain restless.