I’m looking idly at a bright patch on the ground when I see it. A moving image of the sun and sky and clouds, cast down on the rough concrete floor. I’ve read about the phenomenon of a pinhole projection or camera obscura—but I’ve never seen one before in real life, and especially not an accidental one. But here it is: an image of the world squeezed through a nail hole in the roof, cast down as a luminous patch at my feet, no larger than a dinner plate. The wonder of it is overwhelming, indescribable, forcing an involuntary sound from my throat: some kind of inchoate mix of pleasure, surprise, discovery, melancholy, longing. It’s somewhere between a gasp and a whimper—maybe even… a sob?