And the trick here is to use a single, readable sentence that the audience can key into if they get a bit lost, and then provide visuals which appeal to our other senses and create a deeper sense of understanding of what's being described.

We miss out on the things that are most important to us, and the crazy thing is that everybody just assumes, that's the way life is, so we've just kind of got to get on with it.

People started to drop less litter in the streets, for example, started to pay taxes, started to feel something they had forgotten, and beauty was acting as a guardsman where municipal police, or the state itself, were missing.

Nonetheless, this is what I think we were leaving out of our courses and leaving out of the interaction that we have with the public as scientists, the what-remains-to-be-done.

So it's ironic that the landscape I'd worked so hard to escape from, and the community that I'd more or less abandoned and exiled myself from should be the very landscape, the very community I would have to return to to find my missing muse.

Emily Dickinson begins a poem, "I saw no way -- the heavens were stitched --" and we know instantly what it would feel like if the sky were a fabric sewn shut.

Maybe because unlike normal, we were basing it on something in real life, or maybe just because we had lost our way.

Like you notice, nobody could make any sense of what was happening except me, and I didn't give a damn, really, because the whole world, and whole humanity, seemed as confused and lost as I was.

I have to figure out so many outs, when I miss some cards, but I love it. So now, I will do it. I will try to find the diamonds, but I will do it the hard way.

But if we're just cutting that footprint from the whole thing and trying to analyze it, you will miss the point because the actual journey happens between those footprints, and the footprints are nothing but passing time.