Cataracts, the reasoning brain says.
Sluggish circulation, says the sleepy heart.
Transcendence, clarifies the haughty soul.
Clarify butter, orders the imperious cook.
Mmmm, butter, whispers the body to the good ear.
I push out of bed, leave all the voices in the bedclothes, and sing to the sun.
In a moment of collective consciousness, and a bout of optometrically induced pupillary dilation, my eyes experience the same fogginess. "You'll enjoy cataract surgery if you live long enough", says the eye guy. "With the extent of your current correction, slicing up your corneal lenses will certainly improve your vision." WTF! Maybe if I stare at the sun, it will hasten this future feast for the eyes.
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