When I see Queen Anne’s lace, I always think, “Summer is over…”
If one is lucky, a solitary fantasy can totally transform a million realities.
Perhaps I simply relished the riddle. Mysteries seem so uncommon in the electronic age: if the Internet doesn’t answer a question right away, the solution is generally to ask it again later. (Thanks to autocomplete, we rarely even need to articulate a query in its entirety; Google not only answers our questions but asks them for us.) The Internet has seen it all before. Yet the Park Poet, as I started calling her, had evaded the net.
rawrsoft, hah, harks to our conversation last evening.
And, related, a smart thinker and entrepreneur in my circle has observed that young people use the mental and emotional bandwidth that we once used for searching instead to manipulate and analyze data.