I wander from room to room, where blinds are closed against the heat. I look up from my desk and see only a wall of green, not a cool refreshing green, but the steamy green of the jungle. I drive and every view is blocked by buildings, by trees, by the next curve in the road or rise of the hill. The clouds are blurred and indistinct in a hazy blue sky, rolling slowly against weight of the air.

From our little log cabin, we could see Lake Tahoe, five miles away, and snow-covered mountains which rimmed the western shore twelve miles beyond. The cloudless sky was jewel blue and the air so light we danced on tiptoe.

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The surface and beneath the surface