They live concealed within the ebb and flow of life recycled. That very nature is why they are so hard to find. The extraordinary hidden in plain sight…

Their camouflage is the blindness caused by seeing what we saw, before, and not what is before us.

A spell so strong, it takes our will to see it, differently. To reach into what seems to be ‘it’, but is really ‘me’; a world painted on our eyes by our mind.

From memory, of course; that pale repeater and drain of the new.

Close your eyes, facing the unfolding, and will to see what was not seen before, knowing it can never been seen again beyond this.

But this once…

Not recycled: lived again, but lived anew. And then the act of seeing the quiet places will become a song whose chords that stroke the soul will never been repeated in that…