I awaken this morning with Wallace Stegner’s words in my head.  The first lines of CROSSING TO SAFETY, something about trout making their way to the surface.  Is trout right?  Because in my mind’s eye, I see colorful koi.  But that’s not it.  It’s not.  Is it?

Downstairs, coffee percolating, I pull the well-worn paperback of CROSSING TO SAFETY from the shelf to settle the words.

Book I, Chapter I:

Floating upward through a confusion of dreams and memory, curving like a trout through the rings of previous risings, I surface.  My eyes open.  I am awake.

Cataract sufferers must see like this when the bandages are removed after the operation: every detail as sharp as if seen for the first time, yet familiar too, known from before the time of blindness, the remembered and the seen coalescing as in a stereoscope.

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