Having come to this coastline many times before, I know I cannot see it anymore than I can see it. I might as well be The Little Prince trying to describe the Fox to the Rose, or the world of the Lamplighter to the Banker. I might as well be a pair of ragged claws scuttling across the floors of silent seas. . . The moment I lift a lens, pick up a ruler, even raise a wine glass to my eye, that world disappears in exchange for one that I have named ‘real’. We have moved the blue planet into its own space and observed it from afar, and by doing so removed it from ourselves. Indeed, the lever that Archimedes claimed that, if given, he would move the world, we have done so already.
Nevertheless, once upon it time, we lived upon the world, as though nestled within a fairy tale. It was, as my small son had said to me long ago sitting beside me on a bench in the grass, “If we are a part of Nature, then the bench has to be a part of nature too, and so is the grass.” There was, however, that Greekish fulcrum in both time & space that lifted this simple and naïve world of the peasant and country poet away, which placed those into the picturesque, never to be returned to again. Still, I think, we can indulge in a harmless glimpse backwards. There, we may quickly gaze upon these forgotten, obliterated places where long ago we were (as well when we were not) from moment to moment, step to step, and time to time.