The essence of man is in his drive along a dark highway on a summer night, windows down, 68 degree air blowing in from the Atlantic. The hues of the night's crimsonly orange sunset remain in the mind's rearview mirror. Objects in mirror are closer than they appear.
The essence of man is in his trip to a Fire Island beach at nighttime, the grains of sand prickling against his feet like cool velvet lining the skin of the coast. The ebb-and-flow sound of the waves coming onto the shore soothes man into a lullabied trance, the stars and the moon become lasting images before eyes are shut.
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