Morning Mist

The weather has been very hot and humid. As I ride my bike around North Guilford in the early morning, the air is heavy and thick. Everything looks a little less distinct; the shapes at the back end of my field of vision look a little more magical.


We do generally adjust to the scope of vision that we have. We never notice the physiological "blind spot" (scotoma) that is in the center of each eye's field of vision (it's a result of the fact that we have no rods or cones at the place in the back of the eye where the optic nerve attaches). And when we went to the movies to see Toy Story 3 in 3D earlier this week, our weird glasses made the screen look eye-popping for awhile, although by the end of the film we had grown used to the 3D effect and it seemed "normal." Sometimes during my misty bike ride, it's almost as if the mist isn't there any more; it has become the new normal.

And then the view draws my attention again. Sometimes I am trying to see through the mist, sometimes trying to see the sheep or trees that are transformed by partial obscurity. And sometimes I just see the mist itself. Maybe its not that any one point of view is most pleasurable, but rather the opportunity to have different points of view as I move along.