The Distant Land of Myopia

Dull tones smear and coddle in a gray muddle. Cow munch cloud fields. A reality steeped in prismatic conjecture until I find my spectacles. I enter reality, a Columbus arriving in America; not on the continent, but on some island and outcrop just short of finding. Gradually, through the resurrection of rods and cones, a little myopia and less blind faith feeds the expectant mind, until it can see both the daffodils and the ancient hands that brought them here.