::INTER-FACE::

My late lunch today took me out of doors, to my favorite spot at the museum. Near the old "Dallas Museum of Fine Arts" building entrance, huge limestone monoliths rest, begging to be made pedestals for a spell. I sat atop one, cross-legged, as I sipped soup and spooned applesauce. Done with business, I laid back, eyes closed, and drank in the clement sun.

Do you feel your skin? I cannot. When you're just sitting around, can you sense it, the way your vestibular system senses where your head, right elbow, or left foot is at any given moment?

I had a moment given, and the division between the air around my face and the skin of my chin, nose, cheeks, lips, and forehead became stunningly obvious. I felt my skin, as a three-dimensional surface. That border shape -- that interface -- was fragile, as if it were made of hardened light.

I opened my eyes, and in contrast to the blood-orange behind my eyelids, the sky's blue was more vivid than I'd ever experienced.

Ah, spring.