April 19, 2009 6:39am This is wonderfully composed, playful and, if you will permit the self indulgence, evocative of my wistful youth. When I was a lad of 4 or 5 years, after every rainstorm I would spend countless moments sitting on my haunches at the edge of a puddle, marveling at the perfectly rendered, black and white universe that lay within. It was all there, the tree tops, the clouds, and the head of a young boy peering back at me. Each time, I would reach down, ever so carefully, hoping against all hope that out of the sheer purity of will I would be able to bring my hand to that other world, perhaps even touch the face of the young boy peering from within. You know the end of this tale, the very introduction of my fingers to the tiny pool of water, no matter how gently applied, cast the reflection to an abyss - my youthful illusions coldly dispatched by the wet ground. Oh, my, I seem to have gone on a bit here.
