August. Late thunderclouds portend endings. Fall looms serious and grown up. Not yet! First a rollercoaster, sand underfoot. Keepsakes for children old and new. One last funnel cake. The inevitable world can wait.

We are, all of us, entwined, each of the other. Surely we are. Proof encircles us like so many luminous mirrors masquerading as moments unremarkable, of no import. Until we look.

Who are we when we are in between: no longer here, not yet there? Our daily routes, a thousand times travelled, need no attention. They invite us inward, habitual time on our hands, to lose ourselves in private moments on display in these most public spaces. Who are we in these unguarded moments? I watch for them, often below in the stations and vessels of the subways where no horizon distracts us, the better to summon our interiors. I see no Others, no Adversaries about whom we are warned, but kindreds, in transit on a shared journey considered with neither hope or despair - simply considered.

All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream. -Edgar Allen Poe

There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it. -Edith Wharton

. . . Imagined endings.

To live in Washington DC is to immerse in America's running debate with itself, on display almost daily at the city’s ubiquitous protests and demonstrations. I often attend, less to explore the issues (all potent, familiar, wanting resolution) than to watch for when ‘left’ and ‘right’, ‘pro’ or ‘anti’ pause, distracted for an instant from the cause, similarities more than differences on display. We seem in these moments so very capable of conversation.