On Vision, And Not The Metaphorical Kind

Dear Future Publisher,

It’s like being a child again, full of wide-eyed wonder at the world.

The trees, even the ones in the distance, have distinct individual leaves that move with the touch of the wind.

There is depth to the world.

Patterns crystallize into their true form, with each detail vivid and bright.

Words spring forward, easy to read even at a great distance, sharp and precise and legible.

Houses have roof tiles and brick work and delicate wreaths on the door.

People’s faces are masterpieces of individuality, with little wrinkles and freckles and other textural oddities that don’t disappear into the flesh-toned blur of obscurity.

It’s that new glasses feeling. Continue reading