Worthwhile Stuff from Professor Wombat
RAINDROPS ON the window pane defined your first remembered act of contemplation. At about age 4, you would stretch out on the fat backrest of the sofa that pressed against the windowsill. Longing to go out and play, you aimed only to peer at the backyard - the sand box, swing set, upended tricycle. “Rain, rain, go away. . .’’
But soon enough, the focus of your gaze would shift. The outer world would disappear, and suddenly the panoply of raindrops on the window pane came clear right before your nose.
Tiny nodules of water, slapping at the glass, took over the field of your concentration, which then organized itself around a new astonishment. The drops of water were engaged in a spirited competition, arranging themselves in chutes and then sliding haphazardly for the bottom of the window.
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