"When I was a child, I had a fever. My hands felt just like two balloons..."

The sun looks as if it is shining through a giant wispy mat of cotton. And maybe the cotton is a little dirty. But it still creates this diffuse glow. A sort of blue-grey halo sitting atop houses and trees and little patches of grass and garden. The sky looks as if it has been painted. Although not by me. If I had painted it, it would look like it had been spilled. I don't know why documentation of the view out my office window would provide any entertainment when looking back, but sometimes I am moved.

It must be windy. My window is bending and pulsating like a moving train. And the trees are dancing. Yes, it's windy.

"...Now I've got that feeling once again. I can't explain. You would not understand. This is not how I am."