for Friday Fictioneers, March 15, 2013.
With age I come to see more clearly, through glaucoma and the cataracts. Each layer beamed away, burning holes in cloudy veils. Colors hardly remembered, bright edges that the world lends. All that glitters can’t be told. Even my hearing improves, as if long years of practice had taught me how to listen. The paper of my skin whispers pages’ sound. Dying’s process of deletion, dropping memories like scales. Surgery after surgical procedure – removing the lens, installing; expanding tubes, constricting; bypassing and shunting – internal edits increasing my awareness that I’ve no idea how deep my set screens go. I am yet to see this world, through the versions that I’ve filmed.
N Filbert 2013