Flashes of abandoned exhilaration in being alive, catalogued.
Experienced across edges: at tree lines, where man-made touches sky, along bird-paths, entering the ocean.
Sensual beauties, recollected, held dear, bulwarks against unreliable menace, political discontent, financial apprehension, toxic event, automated drones and multicolored charts.
Intimate moments, precious, infused with the marvelous and the sublime.
“We don’t know if we watch in wonder or in dread,” Jack Gladney comments in the final chapter of Don Delillo’s White Noise.