Tuesday, 26 February 2008


It was two weeks ago when, travelling up the mountain in a chairlift with Apprentice Man, he pointed out to me the snow blowing from the top with the sun behind. He declared it to be a magnificent sight, remarking how it looked like fire and continued in glowing terms about what he believed to resemble orange flames. Mystified, I could only see white powder against a blue sky. Then it dawned and I asked if the tint on the lens of his goggles could have anything to do with it. Instantly, his illusions were shattered.

It reminded me of a time when, looking across to the opposite side of the valley, I pointed out to my family a pair of skiers descending in perfect formation, each accurately mirroring the other’s moves. The family appeared bemused and it was clear that it could not see the amazing feat I was witnessing, insisting that I was watching a lone descent. I was puzzled but when I looked up to the sky and saw pairs of birds synchronising their flights too, it was evident that I had a problem with my eyesight that I’d never previously been aware of.

So it is that two people, even when they examine the same scene or object don’t necessarily see the same thing, and sometimes don’t even want to. I know this because secretly I love staring at skiers in the distance without my prescription glasses and so am able to enjoy the beauty of the skier and his imaginary partner coming down the mountainside in perfect harmony

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