When asked why she always uses binoculars, Suzy replies: “It helps me see things closer, even if they’re not very far away. I pretend it’s my magic power.”
Wouldn’t it be grand to see things up close and personal in such a way?
Imagine disappearing between the grains of a slice of bread or being a simple fiber in the binding of a book.
I like to wonder what the world would look like if I were floating in a raindrop or champagne bubble.
Maybe I’m just an unnaturally existential person, but I can’t help but revel in daydreams and curiosities.
A thin piece of yarn is made up of several threads, which are also made up of several threads themselves, and I wish I could see each one individually. The difference between an item created by my own hand and that created by a machine yields unexpected differences that I yearn to compare with a magnifying eye.
The just-budding leaves on spring branches look incredibly different from their matured relatives that brown and fall to the ground later that year.
I’m fascinated by the way cigarette paper folds as if it were fabric while one end smokes after satisfying someone’s nicotine craving.
And I constantly wonder what made each particle of matter decide to morph into what it is today. That iota of near-nothingness decided to become concrete and bond bricks to hold up massive buildings. The endless grains in the tree reveal themselves one by one as they strip away.
It baffles me how one tiny splinter became part of a massive tree, how one bubble was lodged in an airplane ice cube.
And I still can’t wrap my mind around the fact that the holes in our corneas can reflect images and light.
As much as I may wish to shrink myself down to dust-particle size, I’ll settle for perpetually pondering the hidden worlds between the cracks and crevices in my skin.