Paradoxically, imagination grounds us in the world. It takes us out of the world, and out of ourselves, only to locate us more deeply there, with greater awareness and greater capacity for awareness.

Sycamore thoughts are exquisite, beginning in the mud and branching into higher math. And sycamore hearts beat with reverential slowness in their capacious woody chests, one beat per human lifetime.

Each of us has one life. It flows into us at birth and out of us at death. Life keeps on flowing, of course, but the particularity and shape of our one life is gone.

I don’t make a habit of riding around town at dusk, but maybe I should! The rewards are subtle. I’m not looking for anything exotic from my fellow villagers, just plain life. A woman at a sink. A man in a chair, inspecting his glasses.

What’s a neighbor? Someone you live near. Someone you’ve likely not chosen to live near, but do. Your neighbor may grow to be your best friend. But most neighbor relationships are probably less soul-close than proximity-practical.

Sometimes when a story touches on the very spots I most wish to avoid, something else occurs. Rather than fuzzing my reception, the story’s nearness to my own experience seems to open a channel for really hearing.

I do know that light enters at odd times. I’ve experienced it. I do know that the eye finds light — co-creates it — and so the cosmic keyhole that separated and joined the star and my eye tonight was a necessary contrivance of both.

Snow is an artist of great attention. Overnight, it drew perfect circles on the rims of our empty flowerpots. It chalked a fat line across the pitchfork’s handle, and dusted every rusty tine.

The best response, which isn’t actually a response, is to live as wisely and deeply as you know how. Each of us has one life, and it’s ours to live. The French have a phrase for this, naturally. It’s “vivre la vie,” living life.

What is it about space and death? Our human lives are so small, so brief. We’re mayflies born to live one day, or one second, or not even one, in cosmic time.