Zenith sunlight performs a peculiar signature: it doesn’t create shadows. The summer so hot to make unbreathable the air made itself clear to me, as like as one of a kind of measureless glare. The absolute light that all unveils: without shape, without size. She made thoughts ecstatic by nearly stopping me in my tracks, roaming them in the open for everyone to see and merging me with it; me imbued in my own shadow. Maybe I was not able to look at light as long as I had a distinct shape, so to speak. As long as, walking miles away, you stop being alone and start getting sea. Thanks to this eye unceasingly open, whereby to see and to be seen are being assimilated, I by and by turned into the light I was looking at. ...
